


Stealth and Sudden Violence

by anyanka_eg



Category: Hawaii Five-0 (2010)
Genre: AU, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-01
Updated: 2012-01-13
Packaged: 2017-10-29 11:31:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 69,153
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/319416
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anyanka_eg/pseuds/anyanka_eg
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Europe is at war and the main powers in World War 1 are vying for control of the Middle East, especially Egypt. Cairo is awash with British troops, intelligence officers, enemy spies and native Egyptian revolutionaries. Against this backdrop, Steve’s father, an investigator for the American Ambassador to Egypt, is murdered. Steve arrives in Cairo, the place where he spent half his childhood, with his friends, Chin and Kono, to find little progress has been made on the case. Can he solve his father’s murder and foil a Turkish plot to arm the tribes in the Sahara? Will he manage to keep his cool around the detective assigned to the case, one Daniel Williams, late of New Jersey, and unhappily transplanted to Cairo? Will Danny have to shoot his new partner in the face just to keep his own sanity or will he find Egypt?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Written for five0bang. Thank you to my marvelous mixer west_15th and my amazing artist cookiemonsta , who both as much cheering section as they were music and art maestros. And this story would have been nothing without the brilliant beta skills of joe_lawson

The train huffed over a set of points, jerking sideways and smacking Steve's shoulder into the wall of their compartment. He barely felt it, lost in his own thoughts. Unlike Chin and Kono, who sat opposite him staring out of the window, he knew this journey and he didn't have to watch the outside world roll by to know just how close they were to Cairo's main station. Passengers bustled up and down the corridor and an almost palpable sense of excitement rippled along the train as the fields and irrigation ditches gave way to simple mud brick houses that in turn became larger, if not more attractive, homes and warehouses.

Steve wasn't sure what he felt, although he was pretty sure it wasn't excitement. He'd been numb since he'd gotten the telegram over three weeks before and getting closer to his childhood home hadn't burst the bubble he seemed to be living in.

He'd been laughing at Chin's description of Major David's outrage at being knocked into a ditch by a herd of cattle that were probably driven straight at the pompous ass, when the messenger arrived. He'd been happy, pleased with the success of his recent reconnaissance mission up into the jungles, sipping iced tea on the veranda of the small house he shared with Chin and Kono. And then his life had been changed by just twenty eight words.

 

  


Getting to the funeral was never going to be an option. Not when he was stationed a world away in Manila, not when he got his orders from the US Navy. It was only the kindness of Admiral Shepherd, and Chin's calm efficiency, that had gotten the three of them to Cairo as quickly as they had.

The train huffed past the old water tower and Steve wondered why he'd bothered to travel back at all, given that he'd missed burying his father. He'd only seen the man a handful of times in the sixteen years since he'd sent Steve and his sister away, and those occasions had been stilted and painful, as though there were too many ghosts in the room with them.

He'd understood, to some extent, why his younger sister had been sent to live with their Aunt Lizzy in Los Angeles. She'd been fourteen at the time, on the cusp of adulthood, and needed a woman to chaperone her through the next few years of her life. He thought, despite the fact that she'd ostensibly sulked from the day their father told them until the day they went their separate ways in New York, that she'd been quite looking forward to her change of location. Los Angeles was a whole hell of a lot more exciting, at least according to the newspapers they read, than Egypt would ever be. Especially since their father had hardly spoken to them since their mother's death.

He hadn't needed that. He'd needed his father to acknowledge that his son was very nearly a man, or thought he was, and wanted nothing more than to follow in the footsteps of his idol. Instead he was packed off to a ranch in Wyoming to live with his Great Uncle Jed, a man who thought a game of solitaire was 'the most fun a boy could have'.

Steve had stuck it out over the harsh winter, wishing constantly for the tropical weather of Hawaii where he'd spent his early childhood or the dry heat of Egypt that he loved so much. He had submitted his application to the naval academy at Annapolis at the first sign of the snow thawing, determined to emulate someone who wasn't going to disapprove of his choice, his late grandfather. He'd been gone before the fall.

When he looked back now, he knew that at least part of the reason why he'd done what he did was to provoke some kind of reaction from his father. He didn't know what he hoped for, really. Even then he'd been almost certain that there was no way Jack McGarrett was going to leave Egypt, not after the way he withdrew into himself following the death of his wife. He'd certainly expected more than the terse letter near Thanksgiving of his first year.

Three lines wishing him well, greetings of the season and good luck for the rest of his studies. Three pathetic, stilted lines in his father's assured hand. He knew, having spent hours as a kid watching him work, that his father would fill pages and pages of paper with his neat copperplate when he had something to say. It still made something in his chest clench at the thought he was worth barely half a page.

Steve jerked back to the present as the train lurched to a halt alongside the crowded platform. Kono was almost pressed against the window the carriage, desperate to take in everything there was to see. He had to smile at Kono's unguarded excitement at visiting the place Steve had told her so much about. Even though he wished the circumstances were different, he was glad he could show the cousins something of the country he loved.

The platform was jumble of noise and color. Passengers were already disembarking, mingling with the crowds who surged towards the train. People were shouting orders and greetings in English, Arabic and French, waving away the ubiquitous porters or drawing family close. There were severe matrons in black, young women in bright summer dresses, men in linen suits, the olive drab of the British army and the white of the Cairo Police. There were simple gray or brown robes and turbans of the poor mixed with the bright, embroidered jellabiyas of the better off native Caireans.

He would have waited a few more minutes, partly to give Kono a chance to people watch before they became part of the melee, but also to let the crowd thin somewhat. Not that it was ever quiet in Cairo's main station, as far as he could remember. But Chin had other ideas. He stood and began lifting the Gladstone bags they'd stowed in the overhead racks in Alexandria to the floor.

“There's no need to rush,” Steve told him, even though he stood himself and began to help with the luggage.

Kono tore herself away from the view out of the window to jam her hat on the top of her head in what Steve supposed was a very unlady like fashion. She twirled the hat pin between her fingers, showing off the move she'd been practicing during their three weeks at sea, before pushing it through the straw of the hat and her barely tamed mane.

“If you're going to tell people I'm your valet, you'll have to let me do the heavy lifting,” Chin said with a smile, taking the bag from Steve's hand. “I know you hate it, but it's for the best.”

“I know,” Steve sighed, wishing things were different. Chin might be as close to him as family, as was Kono, but the world saw him as Steve's Navy assigned servant, his dog robber, and Kono was a convenient house keeper.

“Come on,” Kono said, squeezing Steve's arm as she passed him. “The sooner we get to the house, the sooner we can stop pretending.”

“If we really wanted to do things right, I should have made you both travel in the second class carriage,” Steve pointed out, following Kono into the corridor. “Did you see that pompous old fool's face when he looked in and saw you two?”

“I've never seen anyone go that color before,” Kono laughed, jostling Chin in her excitement to get off the train. “Come on, cuz.”

“Kono Kalakaua,” Chin said, in what Steve always thought of as his 'frustrated parent' voice.

“Don't worry, I shall be as cool as a cucumber,” Kono interrupted, her prim posture and innocent expression not hiding the amusement in her voice at all.

Chin muttered something Steve didn't catch under his breath as he swung himself down the steps of the carriage on to the platform. He turned back to help Kono down, and Steve wasn't even really surprised to see that none of the Egyptian 'porters' who usually swarmed around the westerners had approached them. Steve followed Kono down and only then the men decided they should approach. He felt a stab of anger that people who were treated as second class citizens in their own country should do the same to someone else.

The men, all vying for the chance to earn a few coins, tried to surround him, pushing their way between Steve and his two friends. Cries of 'I'll carry your luggage, Effendi' and 'I'm an honest man' became more and more strident as Steve made it clear he was planning to ignore them all. He knew they needed a porter or two for the trunks that were in guards carriage but he was damned if he was going to give the men who'd snubbed his friends the chance to earn baksheeh.

“I'm not paying any of you a damned thing,” Steve said in flawless Arabic, which seemed to give some of the men pause in their moves to try to grab the bag he carried. “And if you keep disrespecting my friends, I'll break the arm of the next man who pushes them out of the way.”

The speed with which the would-be-porters stepped away from Chin and Kono was almost comical. Robes flapped and arms flailed as they jumped back to give the two Hawaiians more space than anyone else on the platform, Steve included. Chin managed to hide his smile behind his serious Sergeant Major face, but Kono just grinned.

“Thank you, gentlemen,” she said in careful, accented Arabic. The porters stared in silence for a few seconds before erupting into a babble of surprised and delighted exclamations. Suddenly, the excruciating days spent on the ship from the Manila listening as Kono mangled simple Arabic phrases were worth it. Steve grinned at Chin, who he'd taught to speak Arabic like a Cairo native within a matter of weeks when they'd been stationed together in Pearl Harbor.

“Commander McGarrett,” an American voice called out behind them, and Steve turned to find a group of men pushing through the crowd.

“Yes,” he answered warily, not sure who would have taken the trouble to meet him at the station.

The slim, middle-aged blond man who'd hailed him was dressed in an impossibly crease-free linen suit, and was clearly a person of some importance. He walked with an air of confidence that spoke of a certain power and the larger men, two of them in the uniforms of the Cairo Police, were obviously intent on making sure no one got close to the man whom they flanked.

“Ambassador Jameson,” the man said, introducing himself and grasping Steve's hand. “I'm so sorry for your loss. If there's anything I can do, please let me know.”

“Thank you,” Steve replied, matching the shorter man's surprisingly firm grip. “I'm not sure there is anything at the moment, but I shall let you know if I need anything.”

“Do,” the ambassador instructed, looking past Steve at Chin and Kono. “I must say I was surprised to hear you had brought your staff with you.”

Steve stiffened slightly, as he always did when people casually dismissed his friends as almost nothing more important than a possession because they happened to not be white. It was stupid, it would keep on happening, but no matter how many times he told himself that, it never got easier to bear. He also knew he had to play along, especially now when he wanted the ambassador's help to find the person who killed his father. Still, he couldn't let it go completely.

“They're a little more than staff, sir,” he corrected as gently as he could. “Sergeant Major Chin-Ho Kelly and his cousin Kono Kalakaua are old friends of my family's from Hawaii. Chin serves with me in Manila and Kono makes sure we both have clean uniforms and somewhere more appealing than the barracks to lay our heads.”

“It's good to meet you both,” the ambassador said with a nod of his head, probably as much of an acknowledgment as they were ever going to get. “I gather that the Navy has given you a leave of absence to settle your father's affairs?”

“Yes, sir. As long as I need.”

The ambassador didn't answer right away and Steve wondered if he'd somehow given the wrong answer, disappointed the man. He wasn't sure how. He hadn't abandoned his post, or his team, and they weren't even fighting a war in the Philippines any more, guerrilla or conventional. He was about to say something when the ambassador seemed to find the words he needed.

“He was a good man, your father. He helped a lot of people, Americans here in Egypt, with the work he did for me and my predecessors. He took on some really tough cases that the British authorities were struggling with and solved them. I'm sure that doesn't surprise you, though.” He paused and flashed a small, sad smile, as though he knew exactly how much Steve had looked up to his father as a boy.

“He had a lot of friends here. The cathedral was full for the funeral. I wish we could have waited for you to arrive but, really, it's not possible to delay in such warm climes as these. I know he regretted not seeing you as much as he would have liked, but he was always proud to hear news of you doing so well.”

“Thank you,” Steve managed to say, hoping he hid his surprise at the statement. His father hadn't wanted him the Navy, had made it very clear he disapproved in the few times they'd seen each other since, so he found it difficult to accept that he would have said anything of the sort. He supposed the ambassador was simply saying all the things you were supposed to say to the son of a murdered employee.

“Where are you staying? Sheppard's Hotel?”

“Err... no,” Steve answered, blinking slightly in surprise at the notion he wouldn't go home. “I'm staying at the house. At my father's house.”

“I had assumed...” Ambassador Jameson started, before catching himself, stroking the neat mustache that lined his upper lip as he continued. “As they say, assumption makes an ass of you and me. Of course you want to have the comfort and privacy of your own house. We'll have tea at Sheppard's and I'll send someone to the house to make sure it's ready for you.”

“Ambassador, as much as I appreciate your offer, we're exhausted,” Steve explained, beginning to feel a little irritated at the delay. “My father's staff know we're arriving and have assured me, or rather Chin, that everything will be ready for us.”

“Of course,” the ambassador agreed, as though admitting defeat in some game that Steve didn't know they were playing. “When you've settled in, come and see me. I'm sure you have lots of questions.”

“Thank you, I will,” Steve agreed, looking around at the porters who were still loitering in the hopes of being allowed to carry the bags despite what he'd said to them.

“I arranged for a car to take you where you need to go, and a cart for the luggage,” Jameson explained, guessing Steve's intent.

“I... errr,” Steve started, feeling a little overwhelmed.

“It's the least I could do,” the other man said, waving off Steve's objections before they could form. Steve caught Chin's eye and he moved off down the platform towards the guard's van, one of the ambassador's retinue following, obviously to point out their transport.

Steve could feel the tension building inside his gut. He wanted so badly to see the house again, to feel the sense of belonging he'd had before his mother died, but he knew it would never be the like it was. His mother was gone and now his father was dead, too, murdered in the house that he'd built for his family. Maybe coming back was a mistake, maybe there was nothing here for him at all, maybe he should have just stayed in Manila and done his job.

But louder than all the doubts, a voice inside him kept telling him he had to find out who'd killed his father, and why. He knew he wouldn't be able to settle anywhere, even back into the naval life he loved, until he'd done that.

“And did you tell Miss Coyle you don't like apricot jelly?”

“I did, Danno. But she says that I should eat what's in front of me and be thankful I'm not starving in Africa. That's silly though because we're in Africa and so I could go and find someone who does like it, who was starving.”

Danny sighed, wishing he had something good to say to Grace. He thought his daughter's logic was pretty impeccable, but he could imagine Miss Coyle's disapproving expression if Grace used it on her. His daughter's governess had a face Danny's grandfather would have described as looking like 'a bulldog chewing a wasp'. He wished the man was still alive and that Grace could have met him, even if Rachel would have been appalled by the things he taught her.

But then Rachel was appalled by a lot of what Danny, and by extension his family, did.

She hadn't been, not when they first met. She'd been a free spirited English woman looking for adventure in America and meeting a real life detective had been a thrill. He was sure part of the reason she married him was to spite her dreadful, social climbing mother. After they were married, after Grace was born, Rachel seemed to have begun to become more and more like her mother, worrying that everything she did, said, wore or ate was being judged by others. Danny liked to think his continued employment as a police detective wasn't just because he couldn't imagine doing anything else but was also upholding the tradition of raising a one fingered salute to his ex-wife's domineering mother.

Of course Rachel had managed a second marriage that beat all her mother's hopes for a 'good match' hands down. She'd caught Stanley Edwards, property tycoon, steel magnate, multimillionaire and, unfortunately for Danny, avid amateur Egyptologist. The man owned large chunks of Manhattan, swaths of New Jersey, and yet he'd moved his family, Danny's family really, to this godforsaken oven of a country. All because he was determined to find glory as the discoverer of some lost tomb or forgotten palace.

“Danno, you're not listening,” Grace complained, her stocking covered knee bumping his to get his attention.

“I'm sorry, monkey. I was just thinking how much things have changed in the past two years.”

“I'm glad you came to live here,” Grace said, leaning into him as he slipped his arm around her. “I miss Grammy and Grampa, but it's much nicer now you're here.”

“I'm glad I came, too,” Danny said, his eyes prickling. “I miss Jersey a lot, Monkey, but I'd miss you more.”

“Are we going to go to the park on Saturday?”

“Are we going to the park?” Danny repeated in mock outrage, while Grace giggled into the front of his shirt. “Of course we're going to the park. Where else will you learn to catch a ball?”

“Miss Coyle says young ladies don't play catch,” Grace whispered, a smile twitching about her mouth as though she wasn't sure if Danny would smile with her.

“Well, I think Miss Coyle has a stick up her... oh hello, Rachel.”

Danny stood as his ex-wife approached the secluded portion of the Edwards' mansion grounds that he and Grace called it the Secret Garden. As far as he could tell only they used it regularly, sitting on the bench under the lebbek tree in the hours he got to visit with his little girl.

“Daniel,” Rachel scolded, her voice carrying even more reprimand than it usually did. “You will not speak to our daughter like that.”

“Mommy, Danno's just being funny,” Grace said, leaping to his defense just as she always did. “We know Miss Coyle hasn't really got a stick up her...”

“Grace Williams, don't you dare finish that sentence,” Rachel interrupted, color rising on her cheeks. “And if you ever repeat anything like that I shall wash your mouth out with soap.”

“I'm sorry, Rachel,” Danny apologized, even though he wasn't sure he really did feel any kind of remorse. Grace didn't smile enough anymore and she was smart enough to know what she could say and when.

”Really, Daniel,” Rachel said, voice heavy with disdain as she sat in the seat he'd vacated, carefully arranging the pristine skirt of her afternoon dress.

“Yes, really,” Danny answered, wishing he could stop the sarcasm that always crept in to his voice when she took that tone with him.

Rachel glared at him before drawing in a breath and pursing her lips in the way he knew meant she was trying to not shout at him in front of Grace. For all her faults, real or viewed through the distorting lenses Danny knew he wore when he looked at her, she was still a good mother. “I think it's time for Grace to go inside and dress for dinner.”

“I think it must be,” Danny agreed, willing to play his part and pretend he and Rachel weren't fighting like cats and dogs all the time. “And I have work to do.”

“Are you going to catch the bad man?” Grace asked with a quick grin, repeating the childish question she'd asked him pretty much since she could speak. She hopped off the bench and picked up the straw hat she'd discarded almost as soon as they'd sat down for their shared afternoon tea two hours ago.

“Just like I always do, Gracie,” Danny reassured her, bending down to hug her tight. He'd never understood the people he worked with, here and back home, who didn't seem to have much of a physical relationship with their children. He supposed it was something left over from the stuffy, as he saw them, Gilded Age morals that deemed children something to be seen and not heard. He couldn't imagine a better place to be than right here with his daughter.

“Come along, Grace,” Rachel said, her voice soft, carrying none of the bite it usually did since the divorce.

Danny straightened up, looking at his ex-wife and finding her watching them with a gentle smile, a hint of sadness in her eyes. It was at moments like this, when he caught her remembering the happier times they'd shared, that part of him wanted to tell her it was all okay; that he could look back too and be grateful for their time together and the joy that was Grace. There was also a mean, unkind part of him that wanted to point out it was her fault they weren't together anymore, that she was the one who'd torn them apart.

“I'll see you at the weekend,” Danny said, squashing down the hurtful words that almost threatened to break free. He thought it was getting a little easier each time to keep them inside.

“I love you, Danno,” Grace said with her usual childish certainty that never failed to take his breath away.

“I love you too, Monkey,” he replied, wondering when she was going to get too old for her nick-name.

“Go and find Miss Coyle. I need to speak to your father.”

Danny watched his daughter run back up the path that wound around a dense stand of date palms. It was, as it usually was, like a knife to the chest to know that she was going back into another man's house and he wouldn't see her for days.

“I do wish you wouldn't call her Monkey,” Rachel complained, managing to snuff out all of the positive things he'd been thinking about her.

“You lost the right to tell me what to do, Rachel, the moment you left me.”

“I'm not telling you,” she argued calmly, not rising to his bait. “I'm asking you because it's not the sort of name a girl wants to be stuck with. Especially not one with what could be perceived as certain social disadvantages.”

“Disadvantages?” Danny said incredulously, wondering what his mother would say if she found out he'd hit a woman. “Disadvantages like being the daughter of a man who earns an honest day's pay for his toils? Disadvantages like being the daughter of a policeman?”

“Daniel,” Rachel interrupted him, her voice sharp and her cheeks pinking with what Danny hoped was shame but could have been anger. “You know that we live in a world where people are judged, rightly or wrongly, by their background and breeding. Having Stanley as a step-father will go a long way to make sure Grace has every advantage she can, but she will still have to work hard to ensure her rather humble beginnings don't limit her chances of a good marriage.”

“Marriage? She's nine years old, Rachel.”

“I know that,” Rachel snapped, rising from the garden seat and obviously about to storm back to the house. “I'm merely pointing out that some thought for our daughter's future happiness is appropriate.”

“Let's assume that she doesn't decide to make her own way in the world by being a doctor, or a teacher, or something, then how about we let her marry who she chooses?” Danny argued, angrier with this ex-wife than he had been in a long time.

“Perhaps if my mother had chosen whom I married, we wouldn't be in this mess.” And with that she was gone, stalking along the path Grace had taken back to the house.

Danny was seething. There was no point going after her, partly because when they argued like this they always needed time to cool off, but he also wasn't sure he had anything at all left to say to her. He wanted, no, needed, to punch something so much it almost frightened him. There was nothing but the stupid palm trees and he wasn't so far gone he was going to break his hands on them.

He scrubbed his hand over his face and wondered when she'd stop having the power to hurt him like she did. He sucked in a breath, closed his eyes and counted to ten. He thought maybe the next time he wrote to his mother he should tell her that the counting thing really did nothing to calm him down.

Danny blew out the breath and squared his shoulders. There was no point thinking about Rachel and what might have been, he had a job to do. A policeman, a man he knew, even if it was only to nod to in passing, had been murdered three weeks before and he had no real leads. Perhaps another look at the crime scene might give him some ideas.

  


Steve stood in the doorway of his father's study and stared at the room. There was barely any sign that his father hadn't just left the room a few minutes ago. Except he would never be coming back. Something clenched inside Steve's chest, something painful and heavy, and his throat felt suddenly tight. God, he was never going to see his father again.

He felt himself sway and leaned on the door frame. In the three weeks since he'd learned of his father's death, he'd been questioning what kind of son he was because he'd felt none of the things he thought he should. Now he wanted nothing more than to go back to his little bubble of numbness, because this was overwhelming. It hurt. It hurt like he was the one dying and he had no idea how he was going to get through the next five minutes, let alone the next few weeks.

His eyes pricked and had to put his hand over his mouth to keep in the sob that bubbled up his throat. If he started crying now he might not be able to stop. It was stupid. Stupid and pointless. He and his father hadn't exactly gotten along, even before his mother's death if he was being brutally honest, and yet here he was fighting back tears harder than when his mother had died.

He needed to pull himself together, focus on the task of finding out what had happened to his father. Once he'd done that, he would be able to put this behind him, sell the house and go back to the life he loved, serving his country. Wallowing in this unexpected grief wasn't going to help him do that.

Steve pulled in a shaky breath, forcing his mind into the present, into the room he needed to examine. The desk was still in the same place it had been the last time Steve had been here, dominating the room even without his father sat behind it. The top was uncharacteristically tidy and he made a mental note to ask the police if they had cleared it.

He moved around it to sit in the chair, feeling like a naughty child for about three seconds until he registered how uncomfortable the chair was. He stood up again and really looked at it. The chair was old, the leather on the arms was worn and even split in places, and the seat was lumpy and under-stuffed. Steve realized the chair was the one his father had had when Steve had been a boy. Surely he'd replaced it since then? His father was over sixty years old, he needed comfort.

“We took the chair from this room,” a male voice said from the doorway.

Steve's hand twitched towards his belt, reaching for a gun that wasn't there, as he whirled round, surprised someone had managed to approach without him hearing. He found a compact, blond man, his face a little rough with stubble, watching him with wary, sad eyes. He looked, in his dark wool suit with his gray felt homburg hat in his hand, like he'd stepped off the boat directly from New York.

“It was where, ah, where your father passed away,” the man continued, fidgeting with his hat. “I'm Daniel Williams, by the way.”

“Who?” Steve asked, confused because the man said his name like Steve should know it.

“Has no one talked to you?” Williams asked, not answering his question but stepping into the room. “They told me the ambassador was going to meet you.”

“He did,” Steve replied, starting to get a little annoyed. “But he didn't mention there'd be an intruder in my house.”

“Typical,” the other man sighed tiredly, running his hand over his face. “Let's start at the beginning, shall we? I'm Detective Sergeant Daniel Williams, Cairo Police. I'm investigating your father's murder.”

“You're American?” Steve asked, instead of introducing himself. It wasn't like the man didn't know who he was, so it hardly seemed necessary.

“Is that a problem?” Williams demanded, obviously winding himself up for a fight he'd had before. “I would have thought that you of all people would be glad that someone who gave a crap was investigating the murder.”

“Hey,” Steve said, holding up his hands placatingly. “I'm sure you're a great detective and you're doing your best. I'm just surprised that there's an American on the Cairo Police. They used to be a very British institution.” The other man deflated visibly, the fight going out of him, and Steve felt a stab of regret. He pushed it aside because there wasn't time or space in his life to deal with other people's issues. He just wanted to find out who'd killed his father.

“It's still very British,” the detective admitted, giving Steve a bitter little smile that spoke of square pegs and round holes. “But I need to be in Cairo and being a cop is all I know. With the war on, well, they were happy for any warm body, I think.”

Steve hoped to God he was better than just a warm body, because otherwise his father's case was going to be shot to hell. “What can you tell me about the murder?”

Steve knew that normally there was no way the police would tell the family of a murder victim how their case was going, but he was hoping that, given his background and the fact that he couldn't possibly be a suspect, he might get the full story. Williams blinked owlishly at him, obviously trying to decide what he should say. “Commander McGarrett, I'm sure you realize I can't tell you anything about the case.”

“Steve.” He knew playing the 'treat me like a friend' card probably wouldn't work, but he didn't want to roll out the big guns by pointing out the ambassador was going to be his first port of call tomorrow morning.

“What?”

“Call me Steve,” he explained, hoping the grin he plastered on his face was charming, disarming even, rather than scary.

“Nice,” the shorter man said, his face twisting into a complicated expression Steve couldn't read and his shoulders straightening again. “Well, Steve, as much as I'm sure you're a thoroughly stand-up guy, being in the Army and all...”

“Navy.”

“Navy,” Williams accepted with a nod, before continuing. “Regardless of whichever branch of our country's armed forces you serve in, I still can't tell you anything about the case.”

“I'm going to visit the ambassador tomorrow,” Steve said.

The other man grinned at him, a smile that was genuinely amused but had too many teeth to be really friendly. “You do that. And he'll tell you the same. You're a guest in this country, the same as everyone else, and you'll have to abide by the same rules.”

“Maybe,” Steve conceded, back-peddling and hoping a different tack would work. “Look, I'm ex-Naval intelligence, I've done a lot of investigative work, and I'm currently assigned to track insurgents in the Philippines. I'm sure I can help.”

“Insurgents?” the detective asked, his eyebrows rising in amused skepticism while the hand not holding his hat chopped at the air. “Well, have at it then.”

“Really?” Steve asked, confused by the sudden change of direction.

“No, of course not,” Williams scoffed, rolling his eyes, and Steve could hear the 'you idiot' the other man left unsaid. “Seriously, does sarcasm just pass you by? Did they drum it out of you in the Naval Academy?”

Steve gaped at the other man. If this sarcastic, angry little man was the best the Cairo Police could manage to investigate his father's death, it was no wonder there had been no arrests. He could imagine a whole slew of irate people he was going to have to talk to himself to try to get the investigation going.

“Look,” the detective said, his voice almost kind. “I know you want to find out what happened to your father, I would in your position, but let me do my job. I knew your father, he was a good man, and I'm doing everything I can to catch the person who did this.”

“You knew him?” Steve couldn't keep the little catch of excitement out of his voice.

The other man held his gaze for a few seconds, obviously trying to decide how much he could say. “I only knew him to say hello to, maybe share a few words with, but I heard nothing but good things about him.”

“Oh,” Steve managed, the disappointment he felt taking him completely by surprise.

It must have shown on his face, because the shorter man's face registered concern before he stepped in and laid a hand on Steve's shoulder. “Have you talked to Kamekona? He's been with your father for years.”

“Who?” It was Steve's turn to look at the detective like he was crazy.

“Your dad's cook,” Williams said, looking at Steve like he was stupid again. “Well, he's more like a butler who cooks. Actually, he might have just been a friend of your father's who made sure he actually ate real food once in a while. Tough to tell. Big fellow, Hawaiian, can't miss him.”

“The only person in the house, other than my friends,” he said, before he caught himself. “Other than my staff, is my father's housekeeper. The other staff are local and don't live in.”

“You father doesn't have a housekeeper,” the detective said.

  
  


Later, Danny couldn't say who moved first, but he was fairly sure they were both running from the room before he'd even finished speaking. McGarrett was in front of him, something he should have objected to, but the man was moving with a purpose that suggested bodily harm to anyone who tried to stop him.

They darted from the study into the open sitting area beside the central courtyard of the house and Danny drew the Colt automatic pistol he carried under his jacket. He realized his companion was unarmed as they skidded to a stop next to the doors of the kitchen.

“McGarrett,” he breathed, reaching down to retrieve the little Mauser pistol he kept strapped to his ankle.

“My house,” the man whispered angrily. “My problem.”

“My gun,” Danny hissed back, jabbing Steve in the kidney with the pistol to get his attention. “I thought you might want to borrow it.”

McGarrett looked down at the proffered gun in surprise, and Danny was about to point out that, yes, it was only a small pistol, but beggars couldn't be choosers until the man took it with a grin like it was Christmas morning. “Thanks, detective.”

“Danny,” he instructed, really not wanting to rush into danger with a man he wasn't on first name terms with. “Call me Danny.”

“Danny,” Steve said, with a shy smile that transformed him from stoic warrior to pleased little boy.

God, Danny thought, McGarrett was a menace. All he'd done was offer the man his name, and a small firearm, and it looked like Steve thought Danny was the best friend he'd ever had. Danny could see a future of trying to put that expression on Steve's face as often as he could if he wasn't really careful.

“There's five doors in the room, including this one,” Steve said filling the silence when Danny didn't speak, obviously deciding he was the one running this show.

“I know,” Danny hissed, trying to get back in control of the situation. “I'm in charge of this investigation. Remember?”

“Right now, this isn't about your investigation. It's about the fact there's someone in my house who shouldn't be and is a potential threat to my friends. Just because it's a woman doesn't mean she's any less of a threat.”

“Oh, I know,” Danny agreed, the silver white scar on his shoulder and a dead partner a constant reminder of the day he'd arrested Big Annie Reagan. “But you do not shoot her before I get a chance to arrest her.”

“If she's not a threat,” Steve said, probably thinking he was being reasonable. Danny wondered just who it was that Steve had been fighting the in the Philippines. The newspapers back home barely mentioned the uprising any more, now that most of the fighting was done, but he supposed that there were some die hard Filipinos who still wanted to try their hand at freedom.

“No,” Danny insisted. “We follow proper procedure and we make sure this can all stand up in court because she is the only lead I have right now.”

Steve turned to look at him, ignoring the door to the kitchen completely. “The only lead,” Steve stated, turning his startled gaze to Danny before fixing it right back on the kitchen door. “Seriously? This is it?”

“Look,” Danny tried, gesturing at the door with his gun. “Could we perhaps concentrate on the current situation before we discuss the shortcomings of the case I'm working?”

“Fine,” Steve hissed, focusing back on the door. ”On my mark.”

Danny rolled his eyes, and mouthed 'on my mark' behind Steve's back. The man was the most annoying person Danny had ever met. And that included Pesky Pete, New Jersey's most prolific and inept peeping Tom.

Steve stepped quickly across the doorway, eying the closed doors the whole time, and turned to face Danny. The Navy man had his gun high, both hands wrapped around it, and held his body in a slight crouch, poised to spring into action. Danny had to admit it was pretty impressive, he was obviously well trained, and probably lethal.

Steve raised three fingers, making sure Danny was watching, and then counted them down. As the final finger went down they both stepped into the doorway, guns raised, and kicked the double doors open, slamming them back against the wall.

“Don't move,” Steve shouted, as they burst through the doors.

Danny was pretty sure he even flinched at his partner's sudden shout, but the woman who faced them across the big kitchen table didn't even bat an eyelid. She simply stopped chopping the vegetables and watched them with a calm detachment that Danny found unsettling.

“Is there something I can do for you, Commander McGarrett?”

Steve blinked at her, obviously thrown by the complete lack of response to his big bad soldier act. Whoever she was, Danny had to give her credit for having nerves of steel. He edged further into the room, holding his gun steady. He really didn't like the way she was shifting her grip on the vegetable knife one bit.

“Who are you?” Steve demanded, his brows drawing together in a deep frown. “Who sent you here?”

“You know who I am,” she said, meeting his stare with calm assurance. “I'm your father's housekeeper.”

“He doesn't have one,” Steve replied, taking a step closer.

“Is that what he told you?” she asked, gesturing at Danny. “Did he say he was the police?”

“I am the police,” Danny insisted, knowing really that Steve had every right to be suspicious of him, too. “I've got my credentials in my pocket.”

“Easily forged,” the false housekeeper said, dismissing Danny with barely a glance. Her focus was entirely on Steve, as though she could turn him to her point of view by just the force of her will.

“Your problem, Mrs. McKee, is that he's actually believable,” Steve explained, taking another step closer. “No one trying to spy on me would send an American pretending to be from the Cairo Police, especially not an American who dressed like he thought he was still in New York. You, on the other hand, are a perfect housekeeper. I blame exhaustion for the reason I didn't spot you as a fake earlier.”

Her face twitched slightly and Danny knew she'd worked out the game was up. He was pretty sure he'd squeezed the trigger of his gun before her hand had even started to move but the knife she held still flew towards Steve, only missing because he twisted agily sideways. She dropped to the floor without making a sound.

“She was our only lead,” Steve shouted, stepping towards her and bending to check the pulse at her throat. Danny thought it was a fairly pointless exercise given the hole between her eyes and the blood pooling on the tiles of the kitchen floor.

“And she was trying to kill you,” Danny pointed out, not dropping his gun. “You think she would have stopped with that one knife?”

Steve was still crouched over the body, behind the kitchen table, searching her clothes from the little Danny could see. He doubted there was much to find, she was clearly far too much of a professional for that. Even though she was dead she was still Danny's best lead, if only to tell him that his belief that Jack McGarrett's death was part of something bigger was true.

“You still didn't have to kill her,” Steve objected, peering over the edge of the table.

Danny opened his mouth to argue that, yes, he really did because he couldn't allow members of the public to get hurt, when Steve's eyes widened slightly at something behind the detective. Danny started to turn, but had barely moved before something heavy connected with the side of his head and his world exploded in pain before darkness took him.

  
  


There were voices. Far away voices, somewhere way out past the pain in his head. They needed to shut up, but he couldn't work out how to tell them that. He drifted closer to them, identifying a woman's voice among the gaggle of men. That was weird, he was sure he'd shot the woman.

The housekeeper.

She was going to kill Steve. He couldn't let her do that; he'd only just met the man. Danny sat bolt upright, the movement making his head spin and the sandwich he'd eaten with Grace threaten to make a second appearance.

“Easy there, brah,” someone said from next to him, a big paw of a hand easing him bag onto the sofa. “You had a bit of a bump.”

“Are you okay?” a figure that eventually resolved itself into Steve asked.

“Housekeeper,” Danny managed.

“You killed her,” Steve explained, crouching down so he was at Danny's eye level. “How's the head?”

Of course he had. She had thrown a knife and he'd shot her. And then? Then it was kind of a blank. He remembered Steve shouting at him, and there might have been something behind him, but after that there was nothing.

“How?” Danny asked, and then realized that didn't make a lot of sense, even to him. “What hit me?”

“Ah,” the female voice said, stepping into his field of view. “That would have been me.”

Danny looked up at her and then had to look away again so quickly it made his head spin. She was beautiful, with acres of smooth, damp skin, barely covered by a tiny camisole and low riding, short cotton drawers. He was fairly certain some women in his own family had been born with more clothes on. “Christ.”

“I heard the gunshot from downstairs and thought Steve was being attacked,” she explained, looking contrite but as though she'd do it again if Danny caused any kind of trouble. At least he understood why she was wet. The cellar of the McGarrett residence housed, alongside a moderately good wine collection, store rooms and a large fresh water cistern, a swimming pool. He'd never seen one inside a private house in Egypt and even back in the States he only knew of a couple of houses that had them.

“That's the first thing I thought when I saw Steve, I bet the delicate little flower needs protecting,” Danny joked, making Steve snort in response.

“That he does,” another man said, moving to where Danny could see him. “I brought you some Aspirin and the doctor's on the way.”

“Thanks,” Danny said, accepting the glass of water and the sachet of Aspirin powder. He was already feeling a little better, even if his head still throbbed, but he wasn't going to argue with the doctor being called.

“The ferocious fighting woman who leaps in to defend decorated naval officers is my cousin Kono Kalakaua,” the man continued, stepping back to stand next to her. “I'm Chin-Ho Kelly and you know Kamekona.”

Danny realized that the presence on the sofa next to him was the missing cook. “Hey, big fella. Where'd they find you?”

“I've been locked in the stable for three days, man,” the Hawaiian said, looking thoroughly embarrassed by the whole idea. “She used some kind of hypnosis or something to trick me.”

“She give you any idea what she wanted?” Danny asked, sitting upright and reaching into his jacket for his notebook.

“Woah, there,” Steve said, pushing him gently back into the sofa. “You need to sit still until the doctor gets here.”

“I need to do my job,” Danny insisted, trying to sit up again even though the effort made his head ache. “I bet you haven't called the police.”

“You're the police,” Steve said, making Danny want to slap him. “Besides, we need to examine the body and try to work out what she wanted.”

Danny stared at him incredulously. Who did Steve think he was? He might be some top of his class whiz kid in Naval Intelligence and he might have more medals than Danny had known existed, but he was still a civilian here, a civilian who could start some kind of diplomatic incident if he overstepped the mark. The British authorities in Egypt were not exactly relaxed and easy going at the best of times, and with the whole country rife with paranoia about spies and Turkish fifth columnists, they were likely to put Steve on the first boat out of Alexandria. If he carried on like this, Danny might just help them.

“Look, Commander, I need to explain a few truths to you here,” Danny tried, hoping a combination of threats and very small words might work. “I realize you're used to having things your own way, although God knows how in the military, but you have to understand that if you get in my way on this case, I will arrest you. You have no authority here. You are a citizen of another country and interfering with a murder investigation will get you deported. Is that clear?”

“Perfectly,” Steve answered, but the look in his eyes told Danny he was going to ignore everything he'd said. “Which is why I'm going to visit the ambassador tomorrow and suggest he employs me in my father's old job. Until then, I need you to oversee my investigation. In fact, I'm going to ask Jameson to get you assigned to work as my liaison to the Cairo Police.”

Danny gaped at him. It was like Steve had not really heard a word that had been said. He just assumed people would do what he wanted, listen to his every command. It was horrifying. “Has no one ever told you no? Seriously?”

“People have tried, Detective Williams,” Chin said, a fond, but exasperated little smile on his face.

“Danny, please,” he insisted, almost automatically. He caught the slightly surprised look on both Chin and Kono's faces and guessed they were used to being treated as servants. How anyone could mistake those two for servants was a mystery, you only had to watch Steve's interaction with them for about a millisecond to realize they were as close as family.

“All dis chit chat making me hungry,” Kamekona said, heaving himself up off the sofa. “I'm gonna make dinner. After I throw everything dat woman touched in da trash. I don wanna be poisoned.”

“Poisoned?” Steve questioned, straightening up from where he was crouched beside the sofa and following the cook out of the room. “We can check for poison. Dad's still got a lab here, hasn't he?”

Oh god, Danny thought, this can't end well.

  
  


“Is that the last of it?” Steve asked, as Kono, now dressed in a simple muslin dress much to Danny's obvious relief, brought in a tray of pots.

“Yeah. Kamekona's raiding the store cupboard for things for dinner. He said he didn't even trust the vegetables.”

“He's a wise man,” Danny muttered from where he was slumped in the armchair Chin had maneuvered into the makeshift lab once the doctor had left. He still looked pale and almost on the verge of passing out, but he was stubbornly refusing to leave Steve to do the tests.

“Shouldn't you be resting?” Steve tried again, spooning some of the soup they'd found bubbling on the stove into a glass flask. “You can use one of the bedrooms.”

“And miss you playing the mad scientist?” Danny retorted, his speech slightly distorted from where his face rested on his hand. “Not on your life.”

Steve looked at him for a few moments. Danny's eyes were closed as though the light was painful and his whole body looked like it ached. Most men would have been happy to accept the offered bed and the ministrations of a repentant Kono, but not Danny. He was going to do his duty if it killed him, and Steve found he really didn't like that idea. “If I promise to document everything, will you go and lie down?”

“Steve,” Danny started, cracking one eye open a little. He was going to argue, even if it made his head pound, and the Navy man couldn't let that happen.

“Alright, stay,” Steve interrupted, turning back to his work bench. “But don't throw up in here.”

“Don't worry, princess,” Danny huffed, making Kono laugh, which earned her a glare from Steve. “I haven't thrown up since 1899. Takes more than a little crack on the head to upset a Williams' constitution.”

“Good to know,” Steve murmured, the goofy smile on his face hidden from Kono and Danny. This abrasive, misplaced detective, who answered him back and wouldn't be intimidated, made him feel things, something no one else had since his father's death. He wasn't sure most of the time if he wanted to punch the man or laugh at him, but he didn't care, at least he wasn't numb anymore.

Steve poured some of the hydrochloric acid he'd found in the store at the back of the lab into the flask and waited for the bubbling to stop. He swirled the disgusting looking solution and hoped that the tests he could do with what he had here, which he had to admit was nearly as good as most police labs, found something. If they didn't, he knew he'd have to keep trying to run more and more tests until they found what the poison was. If there even was a poison.

Whoever had killed his father, and he had to assume they were connected to the woman lying dead in the cold cellar, had had plenty of time to search the house between the murder and Steve's arrival. Even with the police and Kamekona about the place it wouldn't have been that hard to do. So they still needed something. That had to mean they thought they would find what it was by watching Steve, or they needed to get him permanently out of the way.

Tomorrow, he'd send a telegram to Mary to warn her that there was a tiny chance that someone might try to kill her. He spent a few seconds composing it in his head and then decided he'd ask Kono to write it. Anything he said would have Mary on the first boat here or running for the hills. He lowered a copper strip into the now bubble-free mixture in the flask and waited.

“What are you testing for?” Danny asked, still slumped in the chair.

“Arsenic,” Steve said, before realizing he should clarify things with the detective. “Actually this test is for several heavy metals, including mercury, thallium, antimony as well as arsenic, but it's an easy test to do so it's the best place to start. If we get something here I'll set up the Marsh test, which is more complex, to definitely identify arsenic.”

“Why arsenic?” Danny inquired, sitting up a little straighter.

“It's what I'd use,” Steve answered quickly, noting the flicker of surprise on Danny's face before he continued. “One, it's easy to get hold of and easy to administer. Two, it mimics cholera and other gastric illnesses so unless the doctor’s looking for it, it'll probably be recorded as a natural death. And three, if she wanted to cover her back for the murder keeping Kamekona around would give her the perfect patsy. Who's going to believe it wasn't the foreign cook?”

“Me,” Danny said.

“And that's why I want you to work with me,” Steve said with a grin that only got larger when Danny sighed and shook his head slightly in an exasperated manner. He hadn't said no. Steve was counting that as a win.

  
  


Danny heard the clip of horses hooves on the street outside, the creak of a carriage as it drew to a halt, and somehow knew it was McGarrett. Sighing, he put down the book he was reading and went to the window to check. Sure enough there was the man paying a cabbie, a bundle of files under his arm. He didn't have a jacket or a hat, something Danny wouldn't dream of leaving the house without, just a khaki shirt, open at the neck, khaki pants and a pair of worn riding boots. Steve looked like an archeologist, a dangerous archeologist who could kill you with his pinkie, but an archeologist none the less.

He thought about breaking protocol and going and opening the door himself, but his landlady was still in the depths of a huge snit because he hadn't come home the night before. Mrs. Hudson, and yes, the irony was lost on her, liked to know where her gentlemen were pretty much the whole time. She used a ruined dinner as an excuse, but he knew she just had an overly prurient interest in other people's love lives. He was pretty sure she thought he'd spent the night in the company of a loose woman, as she called them; God alone knew what she'd make of Kono. Probably have an attack of the vapors and have to be sedated.

He hadn't bothered to try to explain to her that he had a head injury, that the doctor, and then Steve and his band of crazy folk, had insisted he stay somewhere with people to watch him. He had, however, tried again to explain that police work didn't have regular hours, but he knew he was his own worst enemy on that front, usually sending a message if he was going to be out late.

He heard the bell tinkle in the hall, and then a few moments later Mrs. Hudson's heavy footsteps along the corridor. Danny wondered what she'd make of Steve. She was a funny old bird and it could go either way. She seemed to see through any bullshit that Danny gave her, but Grace, on the rare occasions she visited, could spin any kind of yarn and the old lady would lap it up.

There was a knock at his door and it opened before he'd even had time to respond. He was used to it by now, but it still irked some days. Mrs. Hudson appeared, her face a little flushed and her breathing a touch too fast. Steve had obviously turned on the charm.

“The's a Commander McGarrett to see you,” she said, her agitation letting a bit more of her broad Yorkshire accent sneak in than she usually allowed. “He says as how you know him.”

“I do, unfortunately,” Danny admitted, knowing Steve would be listening in the hall outside. “You better show him in.”

Before Mrs. Hudson had even processed his words, let alone turned to go and get Steve, the man himself appeared at the doorway.

“Detective,” he said by way of greeting, stepping past Mrs. Hudson as though she were nothing more than an inconvenient piece of furniture. Something, given the rather Victorian tastes of his landlady, his rooms were stuffed full of. He'd often wondered just how many side tables she thought a man could need.

“Commander,” Danny acknowledged, before turning to the gaping woman. “Mrs. Hudson, could we have some tea? You drink tea, don't you, McGarrett?”

Steve looked at Danny for a few moments like he'd asked him if he'd like to be disemboweled with a spoon before turning and noticing the still motionless landlady and managing to speak. “Yes, tea would be nice.”

“And maybe some of your excellent cake, Mrs. Hudson,” Danny suggested, mainly because she seemed to have become frozen in place by Steve's utter lack of social graces, but also because she baked cakes almost as delicious as the ones his mother made.

Finally, Danny's compliment and the chance to convert another soul with her baking, overrode her faux pas induced inertia and she left the room.

“Seriously, Steve, were you raised by wolves?” Danny asked, actually interested in the answer rather than simply the chance to take a casual swing at the other man. “Your father seemed like he managed to function in society, so what happened to you? Were you dropped on your head as a kid?”

“It's not like I couldn't hear you say I should come in,” Steve complained, his face shifting into a beginnings of a pout.

“That's not the point, Steven,” Danny snapped, reaching the end of his tether with Steve trampling over all the rules Danny tried to follow. “I'm really pleased that you've been living in a world where you can just do what you want without a thought for how other people feel or what they might think of your actions. It's fantastic that this utopia of a place exists. But out here, in the real world, there are some things we do, some rules we follow, that let us all rub along without annoying each other too much. It's what separates us from the jackals and hyenas.”

“Jackals and hyenas?” Steve asked, looking genuinely perplexed by Danny's rant.

“We're in Africa,” Danny said dismissively, not ready to let Steve off the hook yet. “The point is, I'm already in Mrs. Hudson's bad books for staying out last night without letting her know. Which is your fault, too. So you coming in here and ignoring all the social conventions she lives by? Not helping.”

“I'm sorry.”

“She's the only landlady I could find who doesn't mind having kids around the place sometimes,” Danny continued even though Steve had apologized, because it was important that he understand the precarious position Danny was in. “As it is I barely get to see my daughter. We've not slept in the same house since the divorce, which means I've not read her a bedtime story in eighteen months. Eighteen months, McGarrett! Instead, I get to have tea with her twice a week in the mansion my ex-wife now lives in with another man.”

“I'm sorry.”

“I can't afford a place of my own yet and so I have to keep Mrs. Hudson on my side.”

“I get it,” Steve interrupted, looking so obviously contrite that Danny felt a little guilty for laying it all on his shoulders. “I'll apologize to Mrs. Hudson. Why is that name familiar?”

“Sherlock Holmes,” Danny said, and then at Steve's slightly baffled look continued, “Sherlock Holmes' landlady is called Mrs. Hudson.”

“Right,” Steve said, looking less pleased than he should by working out the connection. “My dad read all the books. He loved them. Him and my sister. I never... I didn't really read that much as a kid.”

“Maybe you should give them a try,” Danny suggested, motioning Steve to sit in the chair opposite one he sat down in. “It might give you some pointers about being a detective, which I guess you'll need if you're taking on your father's job.”

“How did you know?”

“I'm a detective, a good one,” Danny answered, smiling when Steve rolled his eyes. “Also, you wouldn't be here with an arm full of files and a spring in your step if the ambassador had shot you down.”

Steve grinned at him, obviously pleased with Danny's deduction and with the fact that he'd gotten his way and had taken over the case. “Russell, the Assistant Commissionaire of the Cairo Police, was there, and even though they both argued about procedure and form, I'm pretty sure that they'd already been planning on offering me the job.”

“You really shouldn't be investigating your own father's death. You'll never get a case to court with you as the investigator.”

“Which is why you've been assigned to be my partner and liaison to the Cairo Police,” Steve told him, like it was the best piece of news he was ever going to get.

Before Danny could set him straight about just how not pleased he was with the arrangement, the door to his rooms opened and Mrs. Hudson appeared with a heavily laden tray. Steve leapt up, hurrying over to take the tray from her with his most charming smile. Danny stood, after all a lady had entered the room, and watched with amusement as Steve's face screwed into a frown as he tried to deterime which of the multitude of tables he should use. Finally he placed the tray on the larger side table nearest Danny with exaggerated care.

“I'm sorry about barging in before,” Steve said to the landlady, who was gazing at him like he was the second coming. “I was just overexcited about some good news I got today and I wanted to share it with Danny. He's going to be working with me, for the American Ambassador.”

She might have been under some Steve-induced spell but it wasn't strong enough for her to miss the reference to where her rent money was coming from. “You're not going to be a detective anymore, Mr. Williams?”

“Since Commander McGarrett only saw fit to tell me the news about thirty seconds before he told you, I have no idea of the details. I'm sure someone will be paying my wages though, Mrs. Hudson.”

“Of course they will,” Steve said, looking insulted that Danny would think he hadn't taken care of everything. “You'll even get a raise.”

“Thank you Mrs. Hudson,” Danny said quickly, ushering her out of the room even though she was clearly more interested in staying. “That'll be all.”

“What?”

“I'd like to make the decision if I tell my landlady about any raise I might get,” Danny explained with a sigh, sitting back down. “I expect there'll be a sudden rent hike, one that only affects me, in a couple of weeks.”

“Oh,” Steve said, taking his own chair again. “I'm sorry. I'm just... it's that this actually means something. That I can do this.”

“Even though you're not making any kind of sense,” Danny said, letting go of his irritation in the face of Steve actually showing that he was human. “I think I get it. Let's go through the files and work out our plan of action.”

“I want to involve Chin and Kono,” Steve said determinedly, even though Danny could tell he was half expecting his new partner to object.

“Okay,” Danny said, reaching for a slice of cake. “We'll have tea, pretending we're civilized human beings, and then go to your house. I assume you've got coffee? Real coffee?”

“As opposed to fake coffee?” Steve asked, looking at Danny like he was mad.

“You, my friend, obviously haven't had that most British of drinks, Camp Coffee,” Danny mocked, gesturing at the other man with his cake before taking a bite and talking through the rich, sugary mouthful. “Once you've been given that by someone who thinks it's what coffee is, you'll understand there is fake coffee.”

Danny took another bite of his cake, trying not to remember the hideousness of the 'coffee' that Mrs. Hudson had given him the first and only time he'd asked her for it. At least she knew how to make a good cake. He was going to savor this slice and possibly the one Steve was studiously ignoring, because he figured working with his new partner was going to keep him away from his rooms a lot, and there was no knowing when Mrs. Hudson would even speak to him again, let alone provide him with cake.

  
  


“And that's it?” Steve asked, leafing through the pathetically thin files they had. “That's everything?”

“No, Steven,” the detective said, patting his person in an exaggerated fashion. “I'm keeping all the good stuff in my magic bottomless pockets.”

Kono snorted, a truly unladylike sound. If Chin were the sort of cousin who worried about his female relation's marriage potential, he supposed he ought to tell her so. But then he'd have to mention the fact that she was wearing a pair of khaki drill pants not unlike his own. She did have a very proper lady's shirtwaister blouse on, too, but had it unbuttoned low enough to make Danny blush every time he looked at her. Chin had wondered if he might have to have a quiet word with the man, but he was beginning to suspect that his interest lay elsewhere. Even if Danny didn't realize it yet.

“It's just,” Steve started, before drawing to a halt and blowing out a frustrated breath. “I thought we'd have something to get started with.”

“You've actually got more than I've had for three weeks,” Danny pointed out, ignoring Steve's skeptical expression and listing the things on his fingers. “You've got a fake housekeeper, armed with a tin of arsenic no less, and some interesting speculation that she's from Germany from your new pal, Dr Bergman. How he got that from dental work I'll never know. You know there's something whoever was running the show wanted because they wouldn't have bothered to set someone up to be here when you arrived, and you know it wasn't simply a plot to kill you because she hadn't used the poison yet.”

“We could have interrupted her before she dosed the food,” Steve suggested, but Chin could tell he didn't really believe it.

“I don't think so,” Kono said, drawing all of their attention. She swung her feet down off the table where they'd been propped as she leaned back in the chair to read the files. Something else Chin was sure other men would be warning her about.

“What makes you say that?” Danny asked, blushing a little less this time as he looked at Kono. Chin couldn't begin to imagine how Steve's plan, with them all working as a team, would have turned out if the detective hadn't been accepting of Chin and Kono as equals.

Chin had found in his time in the navy that Americans, especially from the big cities, were usually more used to non-whites being part of society than most Europeans were. It didn't always hold true, and many people still treated him and Kono as servants, but at least they'd found a broadminded friend in Danny.

What Chin was still marveling at was how open Danny was with Kono. Alright, he still blushed around her, but he was putting that down to remembering her in her swimsuit, but on the whole he accepted her opinions were just as valid as his or Steve's. He'd told them last night about a few of his cases from New Jersey, some involving scarily capable women, but he still wasn't sure where the easy acceptance came from.

“Well, if it had been me,” Kono began, obviously pleased with being given the chance to express her ideas. "If I had wanted to get Steve out of the way, and possibly us, too, I'd have done it before we even got to Cairo. Why risk the things to be connected when an accident or illness somewhere else would likely be written off as coincidence?”

“And,” Chin interjected, drawing all eyes to him, "whatever they're after must have been worth the risk of tipping their hand.”

“That's true,” Steve said, standing up from his seat and pacing away from the huge table that had appeared at the house courtesy of their new employer. “I just wish I had some idea what it was. I read through all of dad's notes that were here last night and you've seen those the ambassador gave me. You didn't take any of them away, did you, Danny?”

“We did,” Danny admitted, but looked apologetic at Steve's hopeful intake of breath. “But I brought them all back when it was obvious there was nothing in there.”

“Damn it,” Steve muttered, just as the door to the kitchen swung open revealing the sweaty figure of Kamekona. A waft of warm, delicious smelling air drifted out behind him.

“Dinner's ready in ten, my friends,” he told them with a smile, as he moved across the courtyard to the open seating area they had hastily converted to their office. “

“Thanks,” Steve said, clapping him on the shoulder. “You'll eat with us again? I know you and dad ate together and I'd like to think you'll be happy doing that with us.”

“More than happy,” said the big man, grinning at Steve and then all of them. “You guys are all in need of some good feeding, just like Jack was.”

Danny groaned, but it was halfhearted at best. “You're worse than my Ma. I'll get fat.”

“Kamekona?” Steve asked, breaking the levity. “Did my father have somewhere else that he might have hidden his notes? I know you probably don't trust me, you don't even know me yet, but all I want to do is find out who killed him.”

“Ho Steve,” Kamekona said, before pausing and making sure the other man was looking at him. “Who I tell you to go and visit with last night?”

“Haah? Mamo?” Steve asked, and Chin had to smile at the pidgin that was sneaking back into his friend's speech when he spent time around Kamekona.

“Who?” Danny asked, clearly frustrated that he was being excluded from the conversation because of the language. “You knew where the notes where and you didn't tell me?”

“Wasn't sure I could trust you,” the big guy said, offering Danny an apologetic smile. “I'm only telling Steve because Mamo's a wily old man who won't give anything away if he thinks someone's up to stuffs.”

“Who's Mamo, boss?” Kono asked, obviously trying to stop Danny exploding with frustration.

“Mansoor Ali Abdul Hassan. He was a friend of my father's,” Steve said, running his hand over his face as though the memories of his childhood were too much. “After my mother died, dad kind of... disappeared. He was here, but he didn't seem to want to have anything to do with Mary or me. I was sixteen and just, well, it wasn't a good time. Mamo took me under his wing and taught me how to be a man.”

“Taught you how to be a man?” Danny scoffed.

“That's what he called it,” Steve said with a small smile. “I learned to navigate across the desert, ride a camels and horses like the Bedouin, fight, shoot a rifle, smoke a hookah, all kinds of things my father probably would have hated if he had bothered to take notice.”

“I think he noticed, brah,” Kamekona said, his face full of sadness. “Jack was always proud of you. You and your sister. He, he just got lost after your mother died and I know he wished he could have changed what happened.”

Steve looked away, but not before Chin caught the stricken look in his eyes. There were huge holes in his knowledge of Steve's past, for all the closeness they shared. This revelation started to fill in some of the blanks. He'd known Steve's mother had died, even that his father had sent him to live with an uncle of some sort in the US, but these details were something Steve never discussed. Chin sometimes wondered if he should push, pry the secrets out of Steve, but he'd never had the courage to face the fall out.

Kamekona, because he obviously knew McGarrett men all too well, squeezed Steve's shoulder briefly, and ambled back to the kitchen, saying “Dinner,” as he went. Chin and Kono, knowing their share of McGarrett men too, got up from their seats and headed to the dining room. Kamekona had already pulled back the doors of the room, opening it to the courtyard, so they could still enjoy the sound of the fountain and the smell of the jasmine while they ate.

“We're going to find out who did this,” Chin heard Danny say, and the Hawaiian winced. You didn't approach a wounded animal, everyone knew that, and it was surely obvious to even the dimmest person that Steve was hurting.

Chin turned, expecting to have to rescue Danny or possibly Steve, but instead saw something that made his eyes widen just a little. Steve accepted the hand Danny had wrapped around his bicep, even if he was studiously looking at the opposite wall, and Chin was pretty sure he was even leaning towards the shorter man. This was... interesting.

  
  


Steve knew he was grinning like a fool, but he didn't care. The car was a sweet ride, even on the rough desert road, and he was already planning on driving it as much as possible. His dad's Model T Ford was okay, great even compared to the junkers in the Philippines, but Danny's Chevrolet Series C Classic Six was amazing. It handled like a dream and had a top speed of sixty five miles an hour. Not that he was doing anything like that speed on what was basically a camel track.

Danny hadn't been sure about handing over the keys to the car, but he'd grudgingly accepted Steve's reasoning that it was better for him to drive as he knew the way to Mamo's camp. Steve hadn't driven in Egypt before, but he'd driven in some pretty inhospitable terrain and he knew how to read the desert thanks to the summer he'd spent with the man they were going to visit.

They'd set off from Steve's house as the sky was beginning to show the first pale glimmers of dawn, Danny complaining bitterly about the early start until the coffee Kamekona had brewed for them had kicked in. Steve was pretty sure it was his companion's un-caffeinated state that had allowed Steve to get the keys off him as easily as he had.

It wasn't that far from Cairo to the camp, barely thirty miles, but Steve knew how difficult the roads or lack of them would make the trip. They'd filled a couple of two gallon gas cans, as well as the tank of the car, at the police depot, just in case they ran into trouble. Kamekona had found every canteen in the house and filled them with water. He'd packed a box of emergency rations, as he called them, that Danny had cracked open before they'd even left the suburbs of Cairo behind.

“You're enjoying this way too much,” Danny said, interrupting Steve's thoughts.

Steve glanced to his right, grinning at the other man's slightly incredulous expression because it was pointless to argue. He was enjoying himself. Steve could just make out Danny's eye roll behind his motoring goggles and let out a laugh. It was exhilarating. The desert stretched out around them, the pale morning light casting long shadows from the small rocks that littered the sandy basin they were speeding across. The hills that loomed in front of them were still hidden in shadow, the rising sun turning the sky to gold behind their peaks.

“You don't like this?” Steve asked, astounded that someone would see this and not fall in love with the country.

The landscape they were driving through wasn't as grand, maybe, as the huge, endless dunes of the Great Sand Sea in the Western Desert out past Kharga Oasis, but Steve thought it was even more beautiful. Pinky red sandstone hills and plateaus rose above hidden valleys and wadis, the sandy floor of which were littered with rocks of different sizes and colors. He supposed the light was too dim right then to appreciate the full splendor of the place, but it still filled Steve with joy.

“I like cities,” Danny said with a grimace and a little shrug. “I've not even been out to the pyramids yet.”

“What?” Steve demanded, turning to look at Danny.

“Eyes on the road, you maniac.”

“It's fine,” Steve reassured his passenger. “There's no one around.”

“That's right,” Danny agreed, but still gripped the side of the car like he feared for his life. “There is no one around. Ergo, when you crash the car we're going to be as dry as mummies before anyone finds us.”

“Ergo?” Steve repeated, his eyebrows going up.

“Do you need a dictionary, Steven?” the other man asked, before barreling on with his point, whatever it was, as though Steve hadn't said anything. “I want you to know that I will kill you for the last of the water. I have no intention of leaving my daughter without a father, even if that means sacrificing you for the greater good.”

“I'll bear that in mind,” Steve assured him as seriously as he could, but he couldn't make the smile leave his face completely.

“This is no laughing matter,” Danny yelled at him, his voice disappearing before he finished, victim of a sudden drop into a pot hole.

Steve, slightly shocked himself by the jolt, eased his foot off the gas and studiously looked only forward so he wouldn't have to see his partner glaring at him. He wasn't going to admit to Danny he'd been right to be worried, even if it was only a tiny risk, because he'd never hear the end of it. But Steve should have known better than to take chances in the desert. He was glad that his reminder had come in the form of a little bouncing around and not a patch of super soft sand that bogged them down and trapped them in the searing heat that would soon begin to bake the valley.

And there was no rush to get to Mamo's camp, other than to avoid the glare of the sun. He was planning on spending the day there before driving back in the cooler evening. He had some really good memories of his time with Mamo, even though he'd still been mourning the loss of his mother. He hoped his long absence from Egypt, especially after he'd promised to come back and visit, would be forgiven by the man he thought of as a second father.

He also felt a strange nagging nervousness that he wasn't sure what he'd do if Mamo and Danny didn't get on. It shouldn't matter, Mamo was an old friend and Danny was a new work colleague, so they weren't likely to be meeting at all after today, but somehow he felt it was hugely important. He shook his head slightly and squashed the feelings down. He'd cross that bridge when he came to it, if he needed to, and until then he'd enjoy the drive to the camp, letting all the stress of the past few weeks blow away in the solitude of desert.

  
  


Danny was hot. No, he corrected himself, he was baking. Cooking to death. In an oven. He'd stripped off his jacket and vest, but he still felt like he was cooking. This was why the desert was such a terrible place. In a city when the temperature soared, you could go inside to get out of the blazing sun, instead of sitting in a car with the sun beating down on the top of the hat you had to keep on if you didn't want the sun to fry the skin off your head.

Steve had taken off his Norfolk jacket when they made a brief stop once the sun had cleared the tops of the hills, and he looked for all the world like he was completely unperturbed by the sizzling heat. The Panama hat Chin had put in the car for him hadn't been touched, but he'd produced a white Arab keffiyeh from somewhere and had that wound around his head and across his face. With his driving goggles in place the man looked like some kind of futuristic desert nomad.

Danny had his goggles on, but without the benefit of the cloth over his face, he felt like he was covered in sand. He could feel it like grit in his mouth and he was pretty sure if he sneezed about half a pound would deposit itself in his handkerchief. He'd realized he'd been a fool a while back and could have had the scrap of white cloth his mother had given him last Christmas over his face, but by that point they'd turned into a wadi that was mostly sheltered from the wind. He figured he'd be grateful of the clean cloth once they stopped.

He was drawn away from his thoughts of a cool bath and clean towels, something he knew was not waiting at the end of this journey, and back to the hot, dusty reality when he realized Steve had stopped the car. They were in a narrow, shadow-filled valley that snaked through a massive outcropping of red sandstone until it ended in front of them with a steep cliff. Danny was about to shout at Steve for getting them lost when a couple of mounds he had taken for rocks unfolded themselves into men. Danny was reaching for his gun before he even realized until Steve hand stilled him.

“As-Salāmu alaykumā,” Steve called in greeting, one of the only bits or Arabic Danny knew despite several lessons.

“Wa `alaykumā s-salām,” came the standard reply from one of the men, although Danny couldn't really tell which as they had their keffiyehs drawn about their faces, desert style.

Steve then launched into a long stream of Arabic that made Danny gape at him. He knew the man had grown up in the country, but most of the ex-pat children he'd met had no more interaction with the native Egyptians than someone who lived in London. Most never learned more than a few words, usually for ordering people to go away, so Steve's obvious fluency with the language was a shock. Although, now he thought about it, he was glad Steve did speak the language because he'd not even considered how they were going to communicate with people who didn't speak English. He couldn't believe he'd been so stupid.

Danny heard their names mentioned, obviously introductions were being made, and then one of the men unwound the cloth from his face a beamed as he spoke. “Steve McGarrett.”

Steve looked at the man blankly, until he said something Danny didn't understand, and then Steve was leaping out of the car to embrace the man. “Abdullah,” was the only word he caught in the ensuing steam of words, hugs and back slaps. The other guard looked on as bemusedly as Danny did.

Steve eventually had turned back to the car and introduced the man to Danny. “This is Abdullah, Mamo's nephew, who was eight years old the last time I saw him, and the fastest kid in the camp.”

Danny was about to attempt to say hello in his terrible Arabic, when the man surprised him by speaking English. “Good to meet you, Danny Williams.”

“You too,” Danny answered once he'd made his mouth work, and then got out of the car to shake the man's hand.

“This is my brother, Rashid,” Abdullah said, gesturing the other man forward. “But he does not speak English so well as I.”

Danny nodded his greeting, but Steve chattered at the other man, who also removed the keffiyeh from across his face, in a long stream of Arabic that made the younger man grin at his older brother, who was blushing furiously. Danny wondered what outlandish story he was telling to embarrass his old friend so much.

“No more,” Abdullah said, laughing, pushing Steve gently on the shoulder. “I'll take you in to the camp. Leave the car here.”

Danny looked about him, wondering if he was going to scale the cliffs that rose about them. Steve grabbed the bag he packed into the car that morning and followed Abdullah over to the side of the wadi, pretty much convincing Danny his worries were correct. He sighed and walked after them, hoping to God his bum knee held up.

He was surprised when both men seemed to disappear behind a large rock, and quickened his pace to catch them. Once he stepped around the rock, he realized the wadi turned sharply, and after a narrow section barely wide enough for a fully laden camel, opened out into a sheltered, flat bottomed valley.

He'd had an idea in his head about what a Bedouin camp would look like, something he blamed on his love of adventure stories as a child. He knew that it was stupid to still be surprised to find the pulp magazines he still enjoyed weren't accurate, something he'd confirmed when he finally became a cop, but still, the reality was disappointing. Instead of a huge nomadic city, filled with brightly colored, luxurious fabrics and bustling with people and camels, the wadi held a few drab black tents and was pretty much devoid of any signs of life.

“Huh!” he said, unable to keep his disappointment to himself.

Steve grinned at him, grabbing his arm and giving it a squeeze, as though he needed to share some of the excitement he seemed to be buzzing with. ”Not what you imagined?”

“Not so much, no,” Danny admitted, pretty sure Steve wouldn't be offended. “I kind of expected, I don't know, more?”

“It's a shame we're not here in the evening,” the other man said, looking more and more nervous as they approached the tents. “They stay out of the sun in the middle of the day, if they can, so the evening's full of life and... just... I was happy here.”

Danny glanced over at Steve, who was clearly seeing his past play out in the small wadi. He wondered what the Navy man would be like if his mother hadn't died or even if his father hadn't sent him away afterward. He was pretty sure that the part of Steve that seemed to be closed off and locked away even with his friends Chin and Kono, wouldn't be out of reach. Maybe he wouldn't look so sad when he remembered happy times.

Before Danny could say something to try to take the look of Steve's face, a small group of people emerged from the little curve of tents that pressed close to the cliffs. One of them, an old man with a wide smiling face, shouted something to Steve and threw his arms wide. Steve dropped the bag he was carrying and rushed to embrace the man.

Danny smiled at their obvious happiness. Steve had nearly picked up the man, who he assumed was Mamo, but managed to restrain himself, instead burying his face in the man's neck and hanging on for dear life. Mamo patted his shoulder, hugging him just as hard. The old man was whispering something to Steve, and even though Danny couldn't hear what was being said, or if it was even in English, he suddenly felt like he was intruding on their collective grief for Jack McGarrett. Danny bent and picked up the bag Steve had dropped to give himself something else to focus on.

“Mamo,” Steve croaked, pulling away from the hug and swiping his hand across his face. “Mamo, this is Detective Daniel Williams. He's been trying to investigate my father's death and now we're working together. Danny, this is Mansoor Ali Abdul Hassan, Sheikh of this family.”

“Good to meet you, sir,” Danny said, stretching out his right hand.

“Pah,” Mamo said dismissively, grabbing Danny's shoulders and kissing him on one cheek then the other before stepping back. “Any friend of Steve's is a friend of mine and my family's.”

“Thank you,” Danny said, a little stunned by his greeting. “And the same to you. Although, you'll have to go to New Jersey to meet more than my daughter.”

“Ah, children are a blessing indeed,” Mamo said, smiling, and gesturing to the group of people standing a little way off. “Come and meet my family, Daniel. We shall have coffee and work out how to catch the man who killed your father, Steve.”

Danny almost rubbed his hands in glee at the thought of Arabic coffee, thick, dark and fragrant. He rarely got to drink it, trapped in the ex-pat community and its determination to almost pretend Egyptian culture didn't exist. He still hated the desert, probably always would, but the prospect of a few tiny cups of good coffee might just make up for the early start and the sand in unspeakable places.

  
  


Steve felt relaxed for the first time in he didn't know how long. It was crazy, because even though the grief for his father felt closer to the surface here than at the house, he still felt loose and free. The hard shell he hadn't realized he'd constructed around himself was thinning, cracking in places, and it felt good. Mamo and his clan were his family, after a fashion, and somehow, even with Chin and Kono, he'd forgotten what that really meant.

Danny was sprawled on the cushions across from him, looking happy but with the edge of discomfort someone used to chairs always finds when faced with Bedouin seating arrangements. He'd had more coffee than was probably good for him and a sickening amount of sweet pastries Mamo's first wife had sent from the kitchen. All the caffeine and sugar were making him grin like a maniac at the stories Selim, Mamo's youngest son, was telling him. The boy was the same age as Danny's daughter and desperate to show off the English he'd been learning from his brothers.

Even though Danny's slightly manic happiness was contagious, he almost regretted bringing him. Steve was fairly sure if he had been on his own he would have been treated as a son, as he was when he was younger, and would've had the chance to socialize with the women, at least Mamo's wives. Maybe he'd ask Mamo if he could break protocol and go to the kitchen to speak to Alima, the oldest of the wives and the woman who'd let him cry on her shoulder for his mother all those years ago.

“You're thinking too much, Steve,” Mamo said to him in Arabic, dragging him back to the present. “You need to relax and let yourself just be.”

“I've got too much to do. The trail's already cold and we have no clue who killed him.”

“I know, my son,” Mamo said with a sad smile and a pat to Steve's knee. “We'll speak of that soon enough. But right now, let's plan for this evening.”

“This evening?” Steve asked, because he was planning to head back to Cairo as soon as he'd gotten the information he needed from Mamo.

“We'll have a fantasia,” Mamo said, with a grin. “I've already told the women. Alima's planning to make all your favorite dishes.”

“No, Mamo,” Steve protested, touched by the kindness but already itching to be away and chasing his father's killer. “It's too much.”

“Steve McGarrett,” Mamo said, suddenly serious and showing some of the sternness that made him the fearsome leader that people respected. “You are a son to me, and I've not seen you for nineteen years. Who knows how long it will be before I see you again, if I ever do, so you will stay and enjoy my hospitality for tonight.”

Steve couldn't argue with him. The man had cared for him, loved him, for the most important summer of his childhood, and turning away now was unthinkable. “I'll stay, but Danny may have to go back.”

“Detective Williams,” Mamo said switching to English, turning to Danny before Steve could speak to him. “Tonight we will have a fantasia for Steven's return. You will stay, will you not.”

“A fantasia?”

“A feast,” Steve explained, knowing it wasn't at all the right word to use to describe the party that was going to happen.

“A little more than that,” Mamo said with a smirk at Steve, who couldn't help but fidget under the man's gaze. He had a suspicion that the old man was planning on all kinds of things for Steve to get involved in, things he almost certainly hadn't done since he was sixteen.

“I haven't got anything planned for this evening, but I have a cranky landlady who likes to know if I'll be in for dinner.”

“Ah, I know the sort of woman,” Mamo said with a wink. “I shall send a message to her.”

“Err,” Danny started, looking at Steve with a frantic kind of embarrassment that didn't take a genius to figure out.

“His landlady is... very British,” Steve said for him, knowing Mamo would understand. Any Egyptian native at her door was likely to be treated as a nuisance.

“Of course,” the old man agreed sadly, waving over his nephew, Abdullah. “Send a message to Kamekona to tell him Steven will be here for tonight. Ask him to let Daniel's landlady know the detective won't be at home for dinner.”

“Someone's going to go all the way to Cairo?” Danny asked, shocked and obviously uncomfortable about forcing someone to take a journey he himself hated.

“They will take their horses and be back before the fantasia,” Mamo reassured Danny, visibly pleased that the detective didn't automatically assume Egyptians should carry out his every wish. “And I'm sure there are supplies that will be needed from Cairo.”

“Okay,” Danny agreed, still looking uneasy about forcing people to ride to Cairo. “As long as it's no trouble.”

Mamo laughed, a deep rumble of happiness. “Daniel, the desert is not something we suffer. It is a place of beauty, a cleansing of the soul, a place of God. You will see tonight how the desert offers us all that we need and want.”

“I'll have to take your word for it,” Danny said, letting go his unease in the face of Mamo's humor. “I'm a city boy, I'm afraid, and the desert makes me nervous.”

“Steven can teach you to survive there,” Mamo said, flashing Steve a proud little smile before he settled his gaze on the robed figure walking towards the open front of the tent. “But first I think there is someone who wants to greet him properly.”

Steve followed the old man's gaze and realized the person approaching was a woman carrying another plate of pastries from the kitchen area. Steve couldn't see her face under her veil, but he was fairly sure it was Alima, even if her gait was a little stiffer and her figure a little fuller than the last time he'd seen her. He scrambled to get his feet under him, about to run out and greet her before he remembered his manners. He looked down at Mamo, who was grinning up at him, obviously knowing exactly what Steve was thinking.

“Go on,” he said, shooing Steve away. “The tent next door is private.”

“Thank you,” Steve said, still staggered that he was granted the privilege of family to see a woman without her veil.

“A'ila,” Mamo said, using the Arabic word for family to convey all the things Steve would never say himself. “And when you return we will speak of your father.”

  
  


Danny watched Steve dash out from the tent and take the dish the woman carried, handing it to Selim who Mamo had instructed to follow with little more than a nod. Steve didn't hug the woman, although Danny could tell he wanted to, but followed her out of sight, grinning the whole way. Danny couldn't help the smile that formed on his own face in return. Seeing Steve happy and relaxed was a revelation and gave Danny a clue to just how much his parents' deaths had affected the other man, even if he hid it all away.

“Steven found much comfort in Alima when his mother died,” Mamo said, drawing Danny's thoughts back to the present. “And she found much comfort in him after the loss of her only son.”

“I'm sorry for your loss,” Danny said, hoping that he was right to assume Alima's son was Mamo's, too. “No parent should outlive their children.”

“You are a kind man,” Mamo said after a moment's consideration. “I am glad Steven has found you. I think he will need a true friend in the times ahead.”

“The times ahead?” Danny asked, wondering just what Mamo knew about Steve's father's death.

“The war in Europe will come to Egypt,” the old man said with a terrible finality. “The Turks want this land back and the Germans want the Suez Canal.”

“Will they win?” Danny asked, fairly certain that this old man sat in a tent in the desert knew more about the prospects for war than most of the British officers he'd spoken to.

“Ah, now there's a question,” Mamo said, sitting back and taking a draw on the hookah pipe. “The British are well armed and they've got numbers on their side at the moment. But they're overconfident and, at least in public, ignoring the threats from within the country.”

“Egyptian nationalists?” Danny asked, wondering if the badly organized groups he'd come across could really be any threat.

“Aiwa, yes,” Mamo said, watching Danny to gauge his reaction. “They want freedom from British rule and some of them have fallen for the lies the Ottomans have told them. They don't see they'll be exchanging one oppressor for another. A crueler one at that.”

“Haven't most of them been rounded up and shipped off to India?”

“Some, yes,” Mamo said, with another draw on his pipe. “But others like Wardini remain.”

“He's only supposed to have a few followers,” Danny said, repeating what he'd been told by his superiors. “Surely he's not much of a threat.”

“I wonder why then the police are so keen to catch him,” Mamo said, using his finger to stab home his point on Danny's knee. “And why the Ottoman agents are round him like flies on camel dung?”

“Huh?” Danny managed, wondering what else the brass had lied to him about.

“And the Senussi in the Western Desert are openly speaking of revolt against the British and the Italians. They are more dangerous, I think.”

“No one's even talking about them in Cairo,” Danny said, a spark of doubt forming about Mamo's information.

“I think that's what the British want,” Mamo replied, drawing on his pipe again. “They're not all idiots, although unfortunately Harvey Pasha is a fool and horse's ass. He shouldn't be in charge of a tea party, let alone the police. I think Russell knows just what's going on though.”

“How do you know all this?” Danny asked, the need to get an answer outweighing his manners.

“Because my father told him,” Steve said, silently stepping around the flap of the tent and making Danny start with surprise.

He didn't meet Danny's eyes, instead focusing on Mamo, but the detective could tell his eyes were red-rimmed and his lashes wet. Danny was surprised at the strength of the need he felt to offer comfort to the man and stamped down on it hard.

“You are as quick witted as your father,” Mamo said, giving Steve a fond, gentle smile. He said something in Arabic, glancing briefly at Danny, and then drawing on his pipe as if he was giving Steve time to think of an answer.

“Anything you say to me you can say to Danny,” Steve replied right away in English, making it obvious what Mamo had asked him.

“Very well,” Mamo agreed, laying down his pipe before he spoke in Arabic to the men and boys who still lounged in the tent. They stood and left, going to the other tents Danny assumed.

“Mamo,” Steve began, before taking a deep breath and blowing it out. “This is big, isn't it? That's why you sent them away.”

“I don't want to put anyone in the position of knowing things that can get them killed,” the old man answered, and Danny felt something flutter in his chest. Excitement, possibly, and a little fear. All the talk of war and agents should have given him a clue that Steve's dad was into more than just helping tourists.

“And my father put you in danger?”

“He wanted someone to know everything,” Mamo said, sitting forward and touching Steve's knee, offering some comfort. “In case the worst happened.”

“I... the thought of him knowing it was coming and not reaching out to me,” Steve managed, his jaw tight and his eyes full of pain. “I... why didn't he, Mamo?”

“He was a proud man, a hard man sometimes, and he felt that he treated you badly when your mother died. He didn't know how to tell you he was sorry, that he was so proud of all that you'd achieved despite all his attempts to keep you from harm. Most of all he was trying to keep you safe again.”

“I didn't need to be kept safe then,” Steve snapped, swiping his hand over his eyes. “I certainly don't need it now.”

Danny didn't speak, even though he wanted to defend Jack McGarrett, explain that being a father was the most difficult and terrifying role a man could have. Steve was feeling everything that he'd felt as a teenager and he didn't need someone who he barely knew telling him the man he still resented as much as he loved him was actually right.

“It is the prerogative of a father who loves his son very much,” Mamo said, his voice sad.

Steve pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to control of himself. “You're right, Mamo, I'm sorry. I know you would do anything to have had more time with...”

“That's not what I meant, Steven,” Mamo interrupted, giving Danny another reason to like the guy. Steve's emotional dam seemed to have broken and the detective was certain that when he got himself back under control he would be mortified by half the things he'd said.

“Can you tell us what Mr. McGarrett was investigating?” Danny asked, doing his own bit to help out his partner.

“Yes and no,” Mamo said, making Danny want to take back all the kind thoughts he'd had about the man. “I can tell you what he told me, which may not be as much as you hope, and I have a package of files he left for safe keeping.”

“Files?” Steve asked, his face serious and his attention fully focused on the old man.

“And his diaries,” Mamo admitted with obvious understanding of what it would mean to Steve. “I have read none of them.”

“Were you going to give them to me?” Steve asked, the edge of anger and hurt obvious in his voice.

“Steven,” Mamo said calmly, his hand on the younger man's knee. “When did you arrive in Cairo?”

“The day before yesterday,” Steve answered, confusion clouding his face.

“And do you think I should have been at your door the second you returned?” Mamo asked.

Steve deflated visibly, looking so sad and lost that Danny wanted to protect him from the world almost as much as he did Grace. “No, Mamo. I'm sorry.”

“I'll tell you what I know and then you will relax and enjoy yourself at the fantasia,” Mamo said in a tone that said he expected to be obeyed. “Then you can get a good night's sleep before you return to Cairo with your father's things.”

Danny could see Steve wanted to argue, wanted to get on with the search for his father's killer, and he could understand that. But even he could see Steve was about an inch away from falling to pieces completely. He suspected the man hadn't slept well since he'd been told of his dad's death and the exhaustion was catching up with him, making cracks appear in the thick walls he obviously kept everything behind.

Danny thought coming here was probably the best and worst thing Steve could have done. He was going to get the chance to work through a little of the grief and anger he felt about his father's death, and probably that of his mother too, surrounded by people who loved him like he was family. But Danny wasn't entirely sure how well Steve was going to hold it all together once they had to return to Cairo.

He hoped Steve got some real sleep tonight and managed to enjoy himself at this fantasia, whatever that was. He also hoped Steve would forgive him for being there to see him at his most vulnerable.

  
  


Mamo took a leisurely sip of his tea, making Steve want to dash it out of his hands and shake the man. He was doing this on purpose. Some kind of torture for not visiting him in all the years since his dad had sent him away. Mamo was a wily old man and he surely knew just how much being kept waiting while tea was requested and brought to the tent was killing him.

“Let's just dial it down a notch, shall we?” Danny suggested conversationally, his eyebrow raised, challenging Steve to argue with him.

Steve glared at him and Danny didn't even blink, just met his gaze with a calm, knowing look. Steve heard a creaking noise and realized it was his teeth grinding. Huh, maybe his partner had a point. He was wound a little tight. Maybe Mamo had a point, too.

Steve took a breath, blowing it out and forcibly making his muscles relax. He closed his eyes, concentrating on his breathing and heart rate just like the Indian yogi had taught him. He knew he had only a few moments before the two men in the tent began to think he was mad. He took another breath, centering himself, hoping he would be able to get himself in the right frame of mind to listen to Mamo. And maybe to apologize for being a boor.

“Your father did more than help lost American souls,” Mamo said, as soon as Steve opened his eyes. “But I am sure you've guessed that. I suspect many would call him a spy, but he was more of an agent for your country, actively seeking out threats to its citizens and interests. I'm sure he was not the only person acting for your government here, but he was the most visible as he was officially able to investigate matters involving American citizens.”

“Do the British know he was a spy?” Danny asked before Steve could even get his thoughts in order.

His dad had been a spy. He had guessed, at least part of it, just as Mamo said, but hearing it spoken aloud was still shocking. Steve had done his fair share of covert missions, dabbling in the murky world of guerrilla fighters and political agitators, but being a spy was something else.

He suddenly wondered if his dad had already been a spy back when he'd sent his children away. Had his father feared for their lives? Had someone threatened them? A part of him wanted so much for it to be true, needing desperately to find some reason for his father's actions, that it almost hurt. Another part of him hoped his dad hadn't been so blinded by duty as to risk the lives of his wife and kids by becoming a spy in the first place.

“They do, and they trusted him,” Mamo said to Danny, interrupting Steve's thoughts. “I know he has worked with Russell and has the utmost respect for him. In fact, he seemed to trust him more than anyone else, even the ambassador.”

“Doesn't that seem a little odd?” Danny asked before Steve could, the detective's brows drawing together in a frown.

“Perhaps,” Mamo agreed, taking another sip of his tea. “But I think it's more to do with them being the same kind of man than with some sort of mistrust of Ambassador Jameson. They're both policemen, through and through, even if Jack had become something more.”

“The ambassador's asked me to take over my father's job,” Steve told Mamo, watching the man's eyes widen in surprise. “Not that he mentioned the spying. Just the investigation part of things. And Russell was there when he made me the offer.”

Mamo didn't say anything at first, just pursed his lips, obviously thinking what he should say. Steve felt the need for approval from this man so strongly that it almost hurt. He knew he was never going to resolve things with his father, but Mamo was someone who mattered too. He'd neglected friends and family in his anger towards his father, but now he had a chance to try to mend the bridges he'd thought were long burned.

“Your father was investigating an enemy agent who killed an American businessman,” Mamo said, when he eventually spoke. “He's a weapons dealer, primarily, but he's not above fomenting conflict to further his own ends, and he's aligned himself with the Germans. At least he has here in Egypt. Allah knows what he's done in other places. He's not a political ideologue, he's in his business purely for money and because, I think, he enjoys violence.”

Steve couldn't speak, couldn't even breathe, in case Mamo stopped speaking. This was it, he was sure of it. This was the reason his father had been killed. They would finally have a lead to follow.

“All your father had was a name. Victor Hesse,” Mamo continued, watching Steve reactions.

Steve had no idea what was showing on his face. He was used to being able to compartmentalize things, lock his feelings up in little boxes and get on with the job at hand. But right now, he was pretty sure there wasn't a box big enough to contain the hatred, the anger he had, towards this man, this Victor Hesse.

“I assume McGarrett didn't have enough evidence to arrest him?” Danny asked, looking right at Steve, like the detective knew that he wanted to jump in the car and race back to Cairo to tear the city apart looking for Hesse.

“Worse than that,” Mamo replied, also watching Steve to gauge what he might do with the news. “He only had the name, no description, no address, no real clue as to who the man is.”

“Perfect,” Danny said, his shoulders slumping a little and Steve realized his partner was almost as invested in this as he was. For reasons he couldn't fathom, Steve found that Danny's obvious emotional involvement, his unvoiced support, was the thing that let him focus on what really needed to be done, not the anger he was feeling.

“But it's a start,” Steve said, his mind clear and his voice steady.

“It is indeed, Steven,” Mamo said, with a smile. “And he had more information too, in his files, and maybe your fresh eyes will see something he missed.”

“I just wish I'd had this information to begin with,” Danny griped, taking a sip of the tea in his glass and grimacing. “I could have been tracking him down while the leads were still hot.”

“I don't think Hesse leaves many clues,” Mamo said sadly, looking suddenly very old. “Jack suspected the man he killed was a loose end. And I think I shall move the camp now I've passed on the information to you.”

“You think it's that dangerous?” Danny asked, and Steve knew, with a sudden stab of guilt, that he was thinking about his daughter.

“You're worrying about your daughter?” Mamo guessed.

“And my ex-wife,” Danny admitted, even though he looked like it pained him to do so. “I might not be married to her any more, I might even be so angry with her that I can barely see straight most of the time, but I did love her once and that counts for something, doesn't it?”

Steve blinked. He'd never met anyone like Danny before. A cop, a detective, capable and tough enough to work the infamous Black Hand kidnapping and extortion cases in New Jersey, at least according to the file Russell had shown him. But he'd traveled halfway around the world just to be near his daughter, and when he spoke about her his face softened, revealing whole other side to him, one that Steve wished his own father had had. He loved her, wanted to be near her, and he didn't care who knew it. And obviously he wasn't afraid to tell people about his marital difficulties either, something social mores usually kept behind closed doors.

“If you think for even one second that your family is in danger, then you send them to me,” Mamo told him, his reassuring hand on Danny's knee. “I'll keep them safe, even if we have to take to the deep desert.”

“Thank you,” Danny said, obviously genuinely moved by the offer, before he laughed a little bitterly. “Although you might not thank me when you hear my ex-wife complain about being in the desert.”

  
  


“

Howzit, brah?” Kamekona asked by way of greeting as he ambled across the courtyard of the McGarrett house.

Chin looked up from whatever it was he was doing at the long table that now occupied what had been an outdoor, if sheltered, seating area. Not that Jack McGarrett had used the area all that much. Not big on entertaining, that man. Having Steve, Chin and Kono around the place as well as the tiny detective was more people than had been here in total over the past year.

“Howzit,” Chin replied, an easy smile splitting his face. “You want to help?”

Kamekona peered down at the papers and little cards on the table. He knew they were to do with Jack's murder and in that sense of course he wanted to help, but, well, files and papers and organization weren't really his strong suit. “I tink I'll stay making da food, brah. Jack fo say an army marches on its stomach.”

Chin laughed, before sobering and looking a little guilty, as though being happy was somehow disrespectful. “I wish I'd had a chance to meet him again. I know, even if I can't prove it, that it was him who got me transferred to the same unit at Steve. I'd like to have gotten the chance to thank him for that.”

“Dat sound like Jack,” Kamekona admitted, looking over to the stairs as Kono clattered down to the first floor. “He like to make sure all da folks who he knows from Hawaii taken care of.”

“I don't know how he knew I was in the Navy,” Chin said, a certain amount of awe evident in his voice. “And how he managed to make it so I didn't get stuck running a dock crew at Pearl forever.”

“Da man know people,” Kamekona agreed, because Jack'd gotten him out before he'd been in too much trouble to get away with his life. “Hey, lil sister.”

“Howzit, Kamekona,” Kono answered, her long hair loose around her smiling face. Kamekona approved of Steve's friends.

“Your cuz doin complicated stuffs with cards,” he said, nodding towards Chin's work. “He lookin for volunteers so I'm goin use you as a human shield.”

The girl laughed, obviously not feeling the same taboo about happiness that Chin was. But then Chin had known Jack, even if it was only when he was a kid, and that made a person more prone to worrying about what other people would think. He needed to do something about that.

“If you're not going to help,” Chin said, an obviously fake frown creasing his brow. “How about some coffee?”

“Shoots, I got better stuff,” Kamekona replied with a grin as he turned and headed back towards the kitchen.

He could hear Chin and Kono speaking quietly together behind him, but he paid it no mind. The dough for the fatir would be ready and he knew that sweet, honey-laden pastries with a cold glass of hibiscus tea were just the thing for hard working brains.

And after he'd served them that, he was going to get on with his plans for dinner. He was expecting a messenger from Mamo any minute to tell him Steve and the haole detective were staying at the camp for a fiesta. He was kind of surprised that Steve thought he was going to be allowed to visit and not stay for the night, but then it had been a long time since the man had been in Egypt and maybe he'd forgotten how things worked.

With the two men away he thought that Kono and Chin would appreciate a little taste of home. He had some noodles stashed away, waiting for a special occasion, and this was it. Three Hawaiians, far from home, what they all needed was a big bowl of saimin to remind them that the islands were still there waiting for them.

  
  


Danny laughed. He had no clue what the storyteller was saying, but it didn't matter because the guy was just funny. He'd seen other storytellers, but they seemed to be very dignified and told tales that Danny was sure were educational, if the audience's expressions were anything to go by. This guy knew his crowd and played to it, jumping around and acting the parts as well as telling the story.

Steve, before the big lug vanished with a couple of guys who he'd obviously known as a kid, had told him it was a story about a man trying to sell his camels at market. Danny wasn't sure how that could be this funny, or take as long as it had to tell, but he didn't mind. He was full of excellent food and surrounded by people enjoying themselves, even if they were doing it in a language he didn't understand. It was a lot like family gatherings back home, minus his mother's lasagna and with fewer people he couldn't talk to because they worked the wrong side of the law.

And okay, he was sat on a rug that smelled faintly of camel in the middle of the desert, but it was close enough to make him miss fiercely the warmth of his big, loud family back in New Jersey. His mom would love this, even if she would feel obliged to try to clean everything, and she'd be in the kitchen area learning to make all the new food. She was adventurous, his mom, the first in her family to marry outside the Italian community, and he figured that was where he got his thing for free spirits from. Rachel was a lot like her; well she used to be, leaving the safety of England to travel to America to see the country just because she could.

The storyteller finished his tale with a great shout to applause from the people gathered around him. The old man grinned, showing his two remaining teeth, and flopped down onto a cushion on the other side of Mamo to where Danny sat. He felt movement next to him and turned to little Selim sitting next to him, grinning at him.

“My mother said to sit with you,” the kid said, gesturing over to the women and children sat over the other side of the fire. All the women were veiled and in the dim light all looked much alike. None of them acknowledged the boy, so Danny was none the wiser.

“Oh, she did, did she?” Danny asked, teasing the boy. He didn't mind, he liked the little tyke.

“You need someone to help you with the words,” the boy said proudly, and Danny grinned at him.

“Maybe I do,” he admitted, looking around the circle of people who were all chatting or enjoying their tea and dates. “What happens next?”

“Men on horses,” Selim said, looked far too excited for it to be as simple as men on horses.

“And that's exciting?” Danny asked, being careful with his language because Selim was a kid and also not that great at English. Well, his English was about a million times better than Danny's Arabic, but then most people's was.

“Mmmm, huh?” Selim said, chewing a date he'd stolen off Danny's plate. “They go fast.”

There was movement in the circle of people and Danny looked around to check if he was going to have to change position. He wouldn't mind the chance to get up and stretch his legs, but it seemed he and all the people in the main tent with its back to the cliffs could stay where they were. The other folks moved to the sides and Danny had a clear view of the whole wadi.

The dim light of setting sun was painting the whole valley lilac, softening the sharp contours of the cliffs that surrounded them and giving the place what even Danny had to admit was a kind of romantic glow. He wasn't given to flights of fancy, and he certainly hadn't discovered a love of the desert, but there was something kind of magical about the place in the evening.

At the far end of the wadi, Danny could just make out a group of riders being marshaled into a line and he felt a flutter of excitement. In the confines of the small valley whatever the horses did was going to be loud and extremely close to the audience. The cop in him, the sensible father, wanted to stop the whole thing because someone could clearly get hurt, but the larger part of him wanted to see the show.

There was a great shout from the men on their horses, answered by the crowd around Danny, and then the horses were galloping, with a sound like approaching thunder. Clouds of dust rose behind the horses' hooves, making it look like they were trying to outrun a sandstorm. Danny could feel the ground shake as they got closer, and his heart beat faster as though it was trying to outpace the horses.

Danny had always loved watching the mounted division of the Jersey City police work, whether it was an exercise or a real situation, admiring the control of the horses by the riders in their dark uniforms. This was nothing like that. He was sure the riders were actually in control, at least he hoped they were, but they looked like they were clinging to the backs of stampeding wild animals, their differently colored robes flapping behind them like flags in the wind.

The horses were about ten yards away when they divided into two groups that wheeled around at the last minute and turned hard, avoiding the seated audience. Danny realized he'd been holding his breath and blew it out. The riders lined the horses up in front of the audience, the impressive animals stamping and snorting in their eagerness to run.

In the saddles, the men started to rise, pulling themselves up until they were all standing on the backs of their animals. Danny looked along the line, impressed beyond words, until he did a double take of a rider nearly right in front of him. Instead of the robes of their hosts, this one wore khaki drill pants, a dun colored shirt open at the neck and a pair of battered riding boots that had seen better days. Steve.

Danny wanted to shout at him for being a fool and trying to kill himself, but he found he couldn't really form words. Steve was grinning like an idiot right at Danny, obviously happy for what was probably the first time in weeks, and on top of that he looked like some kind of hero from one of the adventure stories Danny loved. Steve was a good head taller than most of the other riders, lean and strong, balancing, like he was born to it, on the back of a beautiful bay mare.

Danny swallowed hard. Dear God, the man was a menace. How was it his mother had said they described Lord Byron? Mad, bad and dangerous to know. Danny could almost feel the years ticking off his life expectancy from just breathing the same air as Steve. He knew he should be trying to get to minimum safe distance and yet he found himself grinning back at Steve as he lowered himself back into the saddle and wheeled the horse about. He was doomed.

  
  


Steve stared at the ceiling of the tent. He needed to sleep, he knew that, but the exhilaration of the evening's activities was still thrumming through him. Or maybe he'd lost the ability to tolerate all the coffee he'd drunk. He used to be able to drink the stuff like Mamo did and still fall into a deep sleep at night, but then in those days he'd also have been riding horses all day, or climbing the desert cliffs.

He missed those days with a fierce passion, even with the ever present grief for his mother he'd felt. Life was harsh but simple, the people warm and caring, open with their feelings. More open than his father had been back then, at least, and definitely more than Steve was now.

Steve sighed. Maybe that wasn't entirely true. It had taken about five minutes of Alima holding his hand, her words soft and kind, and he'd been crying like a baby. Well, not a baby, but he'd shed a few tears, which was more than he'd done in a long time. She'd cried too, for him, for her long dead son, for his mother and father. God, he could feel his eyes filling again.

Pushing away the incipient tears with his fingers, he sniffed, determined to get himself back under control. There wasn't anyone around to see him, except a softly snoring Danny on the bedroll next to him, but he couldn't let himself go. He had too much to think about, too many problems to solve.

And it hadn't been all tears with Alima. She'd smiled too, laughed with him about how he was going gray at the temples, how he was getting old. She'd told him that Mamo, for all his supposed vigor, was getting stiff in his joints and she needed some days to massage him as if they were at the hammam. Steve smiled at that. Mamo had four wives, but the eldest, and the one he clearly felt most at home with, was Alima. For all the differences in culture and geography, they were no different than any other long married couple.

He sat up and punched the lumpy pillow into shape before flopping back. Of the things he hadn't missed about living in Mamo's camp, hard, lumpy pillows were probably top of the list. And a decent bath. After the drive across the desert, the day spent in the camp, and then the evening feasting and riding, he really, really needed a wash. He'd spent a longer time being way dirtier than he was now on missions, but for some reason he was finding the day's grime maddening. Maybe he was getting too old to be gallivanting, as Danny had called it, around the desert on a horse.

Or maybe he was just out of practice. He wondered, not for the first time, if he should have fought his father harder to avoid being sent away, if he could have enlisted Mamo in persuading his dad he could stay in Egypt and live with the Bedouin. He would have been happy, well, a lot happier than with his great uncle, but then he wouldn't have joined the Navy or met Chin and Kono, two people he couldn't imagine his life without.

He looked over at the other man who shared his tent. Danny's blond hair was already disarrayed from sleep, his mouth slightly open as he snored softly. He had a sneaking suspicion, one that made no sense given the short time he'd known the man, that Danny was going to turn out to be someone else he couldn't imagine his life without.

  
  


Steve sighed. He was beginning to wonder if he hadn’t made a terrible mistake resigning his commission and taking on his father’s role. His father's files were extensive and he was beginning to suspect that they had very different approaches to their work. He wanted to be out there, in the streets of Cairo, following leads and chasing down suspects. Except, of course, as Danny pointed out, they didn't have anything to go on except the notes. He also insisted they needed to go through every piece of information and cross check it before they started asking more questions, something that made Steve want to punch the smaller man in the mouth. Just a little bit.

“Are the steam engine impressions helping?” Danny asked from his place on the sofa.

“Huh?” Steve replied.

“You're sighing like it's the end of the world,” Danny pointed out, jabbing the air with the paper clip he'd had between his lips for most of the afternoon.

Steve pinched the top of his nose and screwed his eyes shut, trying to clear the frustration from his mind. “I'm just... tense.”

“Of course you are,” Danny said with a laugh, putting his file aside and standing up. “You want to be outside, chasing bad guys and riding horses like some big, goddamned hero, don't you? Well, you'll just have to save the daring do until we've gotten all the facts in order. That's what good police work is all about, and at least your dad understood that.”

“I know,” Steve admitted, because he did understand, really, but he needed to let off steam somehow. “I just want to be doing something.”

“You are doing something,” Danny told him, rolling his eyes in fond exasperation. “If you're really going to take over from your dad, it's not going to be daily gun play and conflagrations.”

“Conflagrations?” Steve queried, raising his eyebrows. Where did Danny get these words from?

“You know them, surely,” Danny replied with a laugh, stepping in closer to Steve and throwing a pretty useful right handed jab that stopped a couple of inches short of Steve's chin.

“I wouldn't let Kono see you doing that, unless you want to get knocked on the head again,” Chin suggested from the doorway.

“Chin, tell me you've got something to save me from the dullest read ever?” Steve asked, dodging another mock punch from Danny.

“I might at that,” Chin admitted, making both Steve and Danny stop fooling around and follow him out of his dad's office and into the open courtyard area where their little task force’s main work space was.

“You know,” Danny said conversationally as they approached the enormous table, "we should move all this into one of the rooms if you ever want to have people over to visit.”

“Who am I going to invite?” Steve asked, genuinely baffled by Danny's suggestion.

Danny looked at him, blinked, rolled his eyes and shook his head, before addressing Chin. “What have you got?”

“I've been doing some organizing,” Chin said, only to correct himself when Kono coughed. “We've been doing some organizing, and getting all the facts we know into order. Just so it's easier to cross check things.”

“You indexed it all?” Danny asked, clearly impressed by the work he could see. “Seriously? And a time line, too?”

“It seemed the most logical,” Chin said, glowing a little at the praise. “I got Kamekona to put up this board, too, and we can use that for the most relevant information.”

“Impressive as ever, Chin,” Steve said, looking at the timeline of all the events they knew about leading up to his father's death. It even continued past it, including the phony housekeeper.

“There are guys in the Cairo Police, hell, police forces all over the world, who would kill for this indexing system,” Danny said, flicking through the small cards Chin had found somewhere and filled in with his neat writing.

“Did you spot anything new?” Steve asked, not really expecting anything at all.

“Actually, yes,” Kono said, moving over to the board. “We noticed that your dad seemed to have new information whenever his day book said he visited Shepherd's Hotel.”

“He had a source there.” Steve felt a swell of familiar excitement, happy to finally have something to get him out the house. “Let's go.”

“Whoa there, cowboy,” Danny ordered, holding up one hand and looking at him like he was crazy. “What are you going to do there? You don't have a name and you can't just go and ask people, can you?”

“Actually, I thought we'd go and have some pre-dinner drinks,” Steve explained, pausing to check his watch to confirm the time. “And see if anyone tries to talk to me.”

Steve was starting to get a little irritated that Danny thought he was some kind of fool. He'd done more years than he cared to mention in military intelligence and even longer planning missions on the ground to take out some pretty effective opponents.

Danny blinked at him, then raised his eyebrows and gave a little nod of approval. “Actually, that's not the worst plan I've ever heard.”

“Funnily enough, the Navy thought I had some good ones in my time.”

“Okay.” Danny held up both his hands in surrender. “I was just confused given your last plan ended with you standing on the back of a horse.”

“Darn it,” Kono swore with feeling, her glare almost enough to make even Steve take a step backwards. “You promised you'd teach me.”

“Teach you?” Danny squawked, his voice rising along with his hands. “There will be no teaching of anyone to do ludicrous tricks that could lead to head injuries and death.”

“I think it's up to Kono if she wants to take the risk, isn't it?”

“Not when you've clearly brainwashed her into thinking she's indestructible,” Danny objected, running a hand over his face. “Besides, society, ours and Mamo's, generally frowns on young ladies doing that sort of thing. Unless they join a circus.”

“Well, this young lady already kicked your ass,” Kono said, not really taking any offense at what Danny had said.

“Lucky hit,” Danny said with a grin to Kono that made her stick out her tongue at him.

“Are we going to stop arguing and go to Shepherd's?” Steve said, trying to get back control of the conversation. “If we don't go soon everyone will have already sat down to eat.”

“Okay, okay,” Danny conceded, holding up his hands again. “We need to stop at my rooms so I can change for dinner.”

“Oh,” Steve said, suddenly realizing that, yes, he would have to change too. Damn it, he hated getting into starched collars and stiff jackets.

“My god, Steve,” Danny snapped like he was mad, but Steve could see he was biting his lip to hide a smile. “You're a barbarian. Go and put on your best monkey suit and let's go.”

Steve rolled his eyes but didn't object, taking the stairs two at a time as he raced to change. He hadn't been inside Shepherd's for years but he suspected nothing much had changed. The bar would be full of officers and bureaucrats mixing awkwardly with the tourists. Male tourists, anyway. He doubted things would have loosened up enough to allow women in to the male dominated sanctum, the bar. No, women sat on the terrace, if their social standing warranted a table there, or in the restaurant, and drank tea.

And of course, none of these people were native Egyptians. They weren't really allowed inside any part of Shepherd's, a few exceptions notwithstanding. He couldn't imagine how frustrating it must be to live in a country and be excluded from the parts of society that had all the power. He didn't blame the Egyptian nationalists for their views, and found he could understand all too well why they thought they had to resort to violent actions.

But that didn't matter right now. All he needed to do was go and try and flush out an informant at Shepherd's to help find his father's murderer. And hopefully stop the nationalists doing something that the people they were trying to free from British rule would ultimately regret. Easy, he thought, with an ironic grin to himself.

  
  


Steve sighed. This was even more frustrating than the paperwork. And hotter. His suit was thick and heavy, his collar starched and too high, his bow tie too tight. He hated dressing for dinner and tried to avoid it when he could. He, Kono and Chin never bothered with the custom when they were alone, and that first evening with Danny none of them had even thought about it when they'd sat down to a quick meal once the chaos was over.

“How is it that even though I know you're hating every minute of this, you still manage to look like some fashion plate?” Danny complained, dragging Steve away from his thoughts. “I mean, look at you, you're like some playboy millionaire.”

“It's just a suit, Danny,” Steve objected, even though he felt a little flutter of pleasure at his partner's words.

“It's just a suit?” Danny mocked, his hands coming up to join in the rant. “No, Steven, it's not just a suit. It's a very well cut item of clothing being worn by a very attractive man, and I say that objectively, that is making every man in this room wish he had the name of your tailor. And, loathe as I am to admit it, every woman we passed on the way into the bar has nearly given herself whiplash just to get a look at you.”

“Or maybe it was you,” Steve said with a smile. “Maybe all the ladies were looking at you.”

“Oh, I know I'm a very attractive man,” Danny agreed, puffing out his chest and using both his hand to slick back his hair. “But even I know I can't compete with you looking like Prince Charming.”

Steve laughed and raised his drink to Danny in salute. He looked around Shepherd's bar and wondered if any of the men, mostly people he would instantly dismiss as useful, were his father's source. “I just hope my dad's contact is as enthusiastic as you.”

“I think it's a member of staff,” Danny said, raising his own whiskey and soda and taking a sip. They were trying to look like they were just out for a drink before dinner, so they'd had to actually buy drinks, but they were being careful to not drink too fast.

“Why do you say that?” Steve knew Danny was a good cop; that meant he had good instincts and Steve wasn't going to ignore them.

“You dad's day book entries were for dinner with lots of different people,” Danny stated, looking pleased that Steve was listening to him. “And if it was some other guest that your dad was meeting then that could arouse suspicion. People gossip about other people, but they don't mention anyone's interactions with the staff.”

“You're probably right,” Steve agreed, thinking through the implications of Danny's reasoning. “We should probably try to speak to some of them.”

“Hold your horses, bucko,” Danny hissed, a restraining hand on Steve's arm as he put his drink down. “If you go and purposely talk to the staff, people will gossip about that. More importantly, you'll scare off the source.”

Steve wanted to ignore them, but Danny's arguments made sense. He just wanted to be doing something, rather than sitting around in a suit drinking pretty poor whiskey. Before he had a chance to answer Danny, he saw someone walking towards them over his partner's shoulder.

His heart sped up. Could this be the contact? He stood up straighter, making Danny turn around to see who was making Steve react. The approaching man was clearly a guest, dressed in a dinner suit and with the confident swagger of a British ex-apt. But under that rather obvious exterior, there seemed to be something more, something darker. The man was as tall as Steve and, for all his build was slimmer, Steve was sure there was a strength there that could potentially match his own. The man was dark, like a native Egyptian, with a rather somber, closed off expression. And that jogged something in his memory.

“Ramses?”

The subject of his inquiry smiled and it lit up his whole face. “I was certain you wouldn't remember me,” he said, holding out his hand towards Steve, “I was barely more than a child last time we saw each other.”

“You were only three years younger than me,” Steve objected, shaking Ramses' hand vigorously. “And having adventures that I would have killed to be part of.”

“And then you would have crossed mother,” Ramses said with a smile.

“How is your family?” Steve asked, remembering Ramses' slightly terrifying parents.

Ramses was about to answer when Danny cleared his throat, giving Steve a glare that spoke of imminent ranting, when he looked at the shorter man. His old friend saved the day, thrusting his hand out for Danny to shake. “Walter Emerson, pleased to meet you.”

“Danny Williams,” the detective replied, returning Ramses' firm handshake.

“Ramses is an archeologist,” Steve explained, not sure how well acquainted Danny was with some of Cairo's better known people.

“Oddly enough, Steven, a whole family who has a reputation of solving crimes and getting into all kinds of trouble is something that your fellow officers tend to keep you informed about.”

“We don't try to get into trouble,” Ramses objected, his face almost imperceptibly stonier than it had been a few moments ago. “At least I don't.”

Well, well, well, Steve thought, Ramses has something against the police. That was new. The family had always been on good terms with the powers that be, if not the antiquities department, when he knew them before.

Danny smiled at him, but Steve could tell that he'd sensed the withdrawal of Ramses behind his mask of indifference. The detective didn't look as if he were offended by the change, rather that he was resigned to it, obviously having seen it before. Maybe, Steve thought, he was going to have to get used to it, too.

“In answer to your question, Steve, my family is well and almost certainly in the dining room by now. You should come say hello, I'm sure mother will be delighted to see you. She's already mentioned sending a note to welcome you home.”

“She's as well informed as ever,” Steve said with a wry smile, trying to decide if he could get away without going to the dining room and facing the combined might of the Emerson clan. “I only arrived four days ago.”

“You should come, too, of course, Mr. Williams,” Ramses said, a little of his good humor sneaking back into his face. “That way there's strength in numbers when you tell my mother you won't be joining us for dinner.”

Steve laughed. Ramses was as good as ever at reading people's inner thoughts. No wonder the Egyptians called him Brother of Demons. “Come on, Danny. There's no escaping. We'll go and say hello before Chin and Kono arrive with the car.”

Ramses gave him a look that Steve couldn't read and he wondered if he'd made some faux pas. Ramses and his family were renowned for their liberal attitude, as most saw it, around the native Egyptians, counting many among their closest friends. Surely he wouldn't think it strange for Steve to have non-white friends.

“Are we, errr, done with the other thing?” Danny asked, finishing his drink and placing the glass on the bar.

“For now,” Steve said, watching Ramses pretend to ignore their conversation, even though he knew the man was more than likely trying to work out what they were doing.

The three men left the dim confines of the bar and crossed the lobby to the dining room. Ramses was walking in front of them and Steve noticed a slight tension in his shoulders, a stiffness of movement, that told the Navy man this supposedly innocent archeologist was disguising an injury. Probably a pretty bad one.

He wanted to ask, to offer comforting words to his old friend, but something held him back. Ramses hadn't mentioned it, and was clearly going to great pains to hide it. That could be down to the same stoic nature, a stiff upper lip, as the Brits said, that he'd had as a child, but it could also be because no one was supposed to know. Steve would never be able to explain why, but he was sure it was the latter.

Assuming it was the latter, that probably meant that Ramses was involved in something, but this time Steve was pretty sure that it was bigger than a simple case of solving a murder. Steve couldn't think of anyone better suited to being a spy than his friend, even if he'd not improved on his skills since Steve last saw him. The thirteen year old Ramses would have made a better intelligence officer than many of the people Steve had worked with, and he could imagine how much better he would be now.

Steve just hoped they were going to be on the same side.

  
  


Danny sat back in his chair and let his dinner settle. He rarely ate in Shepherd's restaurant, a little too stuffy and a lot overpriced for his tastes, but he had to admit the food was excellent and on this occasion the company entertaining.

He was really glad that Chin and Kono had been included in the invitation to eat with the Emersons, even if it had caused somewhat of a sensation in the normally placid dining room of Shepherd's. Looking back he supposed it was less of an invitation to join them and more or an order, in much the same way that Mrs. Emerson's suggestion to the manager of the hotel that Chin and Kono were to be treated as any other guest was more of a threat than a request. He suspected that, had the people inviting the native Hawaiians to dine with them been anyone other than the Emersons, the pair, and probably Steve and Danny with them, would have been gently but forcefully refused a table. That was why they had intended to eat in the Khan el Khalili, a small restaurant that Steve remembered from his youth.

The Emerson family was as improbable as all the stories he'd been told, and then some. The Professor was an imposing man, his big frame still packed with muscles even though he was in his early sixties. He had sharp, intelligent eyes, and Danny found being fixed by them more than a little unsettling, until the man clearly decided he posed no threat to his family.

Mrs. Emerson had been described by Danny's colleagues as indomitable, meaning it more as an insult rather than the great strength it could be. She didn't, and obviously never would, bow to other people's opinions and was more than willing to explain why. She was also fiercely intelligent; Danny could tell that from the very direct questions he'd gotten about police procedure and some recent cases. He thought she reminded him a little of his own mother, despite not being anything like the Italian firebrand he'd left back in New Jersey.

Ramses, who'd spent most of dinner allowing Steve to tell Danny and the others stories about his youthful exploits, with barely any corrections, was something of an enigma to him. He still felt the sting of the change in the man's demeanor when he'd discovered Danny was with the police, but was struggling to understand the reason. The whole family seemed to have been involved with solving murders and catching smugglers for years, and clearly had pretty good relations with the police. He'd have to ask Steve later if he had any idea.

Nerfet Forth, the Emerson's adopted daughter, was just as beautiful as he'd been told. Where Ramses was dark like a native Egyptian, Nefret was fair, her hair a red-gold, her eyes cornflower blue, her skin still pale even after months in Egypt's sun. She was also just as fiercely intelligent and independent as her adoptive mother. He didn't want to be surprised when she talked about the women's hospital she ran, he'd known she was a trained surgeon before meeting her, but there was still a small part of him that marveled that a woman as beautiful and wealthy as she was had decided to dedicate a good portion of her time to the women of the red blind district.

She'd spent most of dinner becoming firm friends with Kono, and after Steve's stories of Nefret's skills with the knife and the bow he was beginning to suspect he might have to lay down some ground rules about sharp implements in the house. He also figured he was going to be getting all kinds of questions from Kono about the notorious red blind district and all the things he'd seen there. He wasn't going to spare the details, but he was going to try to impress on Kono the fact that it was dangerous and she couldn't go rushing in to save the day.

He smiled to himself. Kono was enjoying herself, her face flushed from the wine, her eyes shining as she told Nefret and Mrs. Emerson about their time in the Philippines. Chin was a little more reserved, but still chatting amiably to the Professor about Hawaii and the culture of the native peoples. Steve and Ramses were sat very close together, discussing something Danny couldn't hear, and he felt a sudden stab of jealousy.

Danny took a moment to analyze the surprising thought. What did he have to be jealous of? The two men were friends, or they had been years ago, and were just catching up. He'd only met Steve four days ago, although it seemed a whole hell of a lot longer, and he had no rights over who Steve spoke to. He'd have no rights over that even if he'd known the man a lifetime, he told himself, but it still didn't stop the little nagging voice in his head that said Ramses was some kind of threat.

The younger Emerson, Danny was fairly sure, wasn't a threat in a physical kind of way, not least because all of the little team they'd formed were more than able of taking care of themselves. Even against someone who was as obviously capable as Ramses was. No, he was a threat to the bright new bond that Danny had with Steve. Ramses was someone he could see Steve finding useful for more than liaising with the police and making sure he didn't tread too heavily on their procedures. He certainly fit better into the circle of friends Steve surrounded himself with. Ramses could be one of the many cousins Kono and Chin talked about.

“Are you all right, Mr. Williams?” Mrs. Emerson asked, looking at him with a certain amount of consternation and more than a little curiosity. “You seem to be grinding your teeth.”

“I'm sorry, I was thinking about my ex-wife,” he lied, with a little smile to soften what could be construed as a socially unacceptable statement.

Mrs. Emerson smiled at him, clearly not offended, but her face showed a determined sympathy that Danny knew he was going to regret. “You came all the way to Egypt to be with your daughter?”

“Yes,” he said, frantically thinking about how to distract the woman even though it was his own fault for bringing it up. “I couldn't imagine giving up the chance to watch her grow up.”

“Even if it is only a few hours a week,” she stated, showing a depth of understanding of his situation that most people didn't. “It must be very difficult.”

“It relies a lot on the goodwill of a woman who seems to hate me, and a man I hate for marrying her,” Danny admitted, surprising himself a little.

“Ah, yes, Stanley Edwards,” Mrs. Emerson spat with such bitterness that Danny almost laughed.

“What did he do to you?” he asked with a smile, taking a sip of the coffee. “You sound as if you hate him almost as much as I do.”

“He is, unfortunately, one of that breed of men who believe that a large fortune qualifies them to dig holes in Egypt.” She sounded as wounded as if Stan had been terribly indiscreet with her daughter. “He's caused nothing but problems since he arrived and took over the von Bork's dig at Heliopolis. His methods are sloppy and his security is so lax it's a surprise there's anything left on the site.”

“And there was I just thinking he was the rich man my wife's mother always wanted for a son-in-law.”

“It seems we have a common enemy, Mr. Williams,” Mrs. Emerson replied, her eyes twinkling with humor.

“For heaven's sake, my dear, don't go interfering with Williams' life,” Professor Emerson ordered, making Danny wonder how much of the conversation he and the others had heard. “You're likely to drive Edwards to leave Egypt, and then where would McGarrett be in the investigation of his father's death?”

“You'd leave?” Steve asked, demonstrating he was listening too.

“I go where Grace is,” Danny admitted, not enjoying the stab of hurt that flashed ever so quickly over Steve's face. “Sorry.”

“There's no need to apologize, my dear boy,” the Professor said, clapping Danny on the shoulder and nearly driving him face first into the table. “It's an admirable quality that more men should aspire to. If only certain members...”

“Emerson,” his wife interrupted, noticing the stony cast to Steve's face. “Perhaps we should think about getting home. I'm sure these young people have other plans for the rest of the evening.”

“Young people?” the Professor asked, sounding vaguely affronted at the implication he was no longer young, even though he was already beginning to stand up.

“Yes, people who are not us, my dear,” his wife said with a quick glance at their son, one she probably thought wasn't at all obvious.

“Well, we have an early start tomorrow at the site,” the Professor agreed, obviously trying to stop her saying anything else. “Most enlightening discussion, Mr. Kelly. You should come to the site. Just don't expect us to drop everything to show you round.”

“Don't mind him,” Nefret laughed, gathering her small purse from the table as the waiter rushed to pull out her chair. “We'll be happy to show you the tomb, such as it is, and offer a cup of tea for your troubles.”

The Professor harrumphed, but didn't object, as he pulled out his wife's chair and virtually lifted her out of it. Danny found the idea of going out to the tomb far more appealing now that he'd been all the way out in the desert with Steve. He might even take Grace out there.

“Bring your daughter, Mr. Williams,” Mrs. Emerson offered, reading his mind. “I'm sure we'd all like to meet her.”

“I might just do that,” Danny replied, standing as all the men had as soon as Mrs. Emerson and Nefret were on their feet. “Thank you.”

“We shall no doubt see each other around town,” Ramses said, with a look at Steve. “Good to meet you all.”

And with that the Emersons left the dining room, leaving Steve, Chin and Danny to take their seats again in slightly stunned silence. Out of the corner of his eye, Danny could see waiters hovering, obviously wanting to reclaim the table and restore the dining room to its European normalcy. He could imagine the complaints being made by other patrons about foreigners in their hotel.

“We should probably leave, too,” Steve said, finally finding his voice. “We've got a busy day tomorrow.”

“We have?” Danny asked, thinking fondly of his bed, and less so of his landlady.

“I'll explain in the car,” Steve said, standing up and pulling Kono's chair out for her so forcefully that she nearly fell off it.

“You really are a Neanderthal, aren't you?” Danny asked, holding out his arm in an exaggeratedly chivalrous gesture for Kono, once she'd gotten to her feet. “You might be the best trained soldier, a secret warrior for good and all that, but you're really clueless when it comes to basic mammal to mammal interactions.”

Steve blinked at him, and then turned, marching off towards the door without a backwards glance. Kono took Danny's arm with a smile and they followed Chin, who was already hard on Steve's tail. He was glad these guys knew Steve already, or he'd spend all his time apologizing to them.

“Would you really follow Grace wherever she went?” Kono asked, sounding unsure, as though she wasn't allowed to mention this part of his life.

“I would,” Danny answered, watching her brows crease a little at the answer. “But not without a lot of begging Rachel to stay here first though.”

His answer earned him a squeeze of his arm that he was sure briefly shut the blood supply off to his hand. He reminded himself again to never cross the Kono. Now he just had to find out what had crawled up Steve's ass and made him close himself off again.

  
  


Steve leaned against the low parapet of the roof terrace and looked out over the dark city. Most people would be in bed already, at least the folks who worked for a living. He suspected that some people were still dancing themselves into the small hours of the morning, but the war in Europe had dimmed the spirits of even the most ardent reveler.

The moon was nearly full, its light glinting off the waters of the Nile a few blocks from the house, and beyond that he could just make out the hulking shapes of the Giza pyramids. Behind him, the lights of Cairo, such that they were, spread across the eastern bank of the river.

He watched the Nile, hoping its slow movements might soothe his mind and let him get some sleep. He'd told the others to go to bed before he'd escaped up the stairs to the top of the house, out into the open air. Danny had to drive home, of course, but at least he, Kono and Chin were going to get a good night's rest before they mounted their little operation tomorrow. He knew he should be worrying about that, analyzing Ramses information, assessing if he could trust the man's assertion that he'd passed information to Steve's father when he visited Shepherd's. But he wasn't, he was worrying about another conversation he'd had at dinner.

He wanted to swim, but the idea of doing it in the confines of the pool made his skin crawl. He needed open water, but, as tempting as the Nile was, the prospect of being eaten by a crocodile, however unlikely, really didn't appeal. He wasn't feeling that bad. Yet.

God, he'd been an idiot. He had known Danny had come all this way to follow his daughter, and of course that meant he would follow her if she moved again, but to hear it from his own mouth somehow made it more real. And Steve had no right to even imagine asking him to stay here. He'd met him just four days ago and already Danny had somehow become the center of this new life Steve was making for himself.

And what a new life it was. He'd given up the one thing in life he knew he loved, the Navy, to do a job he was only barely competent for. His dad had worked for years to build a network of contacts and informants and he'd still gotten himself killed by this Victor Hesse person.

He was back living in the house that held some of his best and worst memories of his childhood, the house where his father had been murdered, a house he wasn't sure he wanted. He was sleeping in his old bedroom, the master suite untouched and still filled with his dad's most private possessions. The whole house was filled with his dad's things, his dad's memories.

He felt sorry for the man he had spent a lot of time in the past years resenting, if not hating, because he'd been living in a museum to the family he'd lost. His and Mary's old rooms were exactly the way he remembered when he'd stepped out of the door that last day as he was sent away. There was even a closet of his mom's clothes in the dressing room next to his dad's bedroom. Kono described it as a little creepy, and he had to agree.

And here he was, taking over the mantle of the man, coming back to the same house, the same life, the same stupid risks his father had taken. And somehow he was expecting Danny, Chin and Kono to drop everything they were doing, change their whole lives, and join him in this crusade he found himself on. It wasn't fair of him and it was foolish to expect it to happen.

“You know, I can almost hear you brooding from my bedroom,” Chin complained quietly from behind him, making him start in surprise.

“I didn't hear you come up,” Steve said redundantly, while he tried to get his heart rate back under control. “You should go back to bed.”

“I'd say the same to you,” Chin answered, ignoring the order Steve had given. “But I know you're going to sit up here and stew about whatever has your bloomers in a twist.”

Steve barked out a sudden laugh, surprised again at Chin's turn of phrase. He suspected that he might have to separate Chin and Danny because the Jersey native was having a detrimental effect on his friend's language.

“It's nothing, honestly,” Steve lied, hoping the low light would disguise the tells he knew Chin would normally read.

“Right,” came the skeptical answer, and Steve knew he'd been rumbled.

“Really, I'm fine.”

“You can talk to me or I can let Kono come up here like she wanted to.” Chin pointed out, sitting on the low wall of the roof terrace.

Steve stared at the other man, trying to work out if it was a lie, but Chin had no tells, at least ones that Steve knew. “You wouldn't?”

Chin looked at Steve like he was an annoying teenager who was too stupid to listen to his parents. “I've signed the request to join the reserves.”

“You have?” Steve wished he didn't sound as surprised as he did. He hadn't asked Chin or Kono to stay with him in Egypt, he wasn't even sure why he'd made the decision himself either, although he was beginning to wonder if Danny's entry into his life weren't tied up in it somehow.

Chin sighed. “There's nothing for me back in Hawaii, not with everyone still thinking I stole the plantation's payroll money, and the Navy wasn't all that much fun until you and your dad got me out of being a glorified dock hand.”

“And Kono?” Steve asked, pretty sure he knew the answer already.

“She's even less keen on being pressured into a marriage she doesn't want now than she was before,” Chin said, with a wry smile. “Can't say I blame her.”

“Me either,” Steve agreed, because there was something so wrong with the idea of bright, beautiful Kono being cowed into marriage by her extended family. Or any woman. Or man.

“Stop it,” Chin ordered, some of the snap that made their unit so scared of Sergeant Kelly in his voice. “I've seen you do this before and I won't let you do it again.”

“What?”

“You get melancholic,” Chin said, obviously uncomfortable saying what he was going to say. “When Nick Taylor died... I don't want you to start trying to make everything your problem to fix again.”

“I don't...”

“Steve, trust me,” Chin said, and Steve did, always had. “Don't take all this on yourself.”

“Okay.”

“You have friends, a family even,” Chin said, looking as serious as he ever had. “We're in this with you. We're ohana, brah.”

Steve guessed he really was acting like an idiot, if Chin had to explain what he already knew, what he'd always known. “Yeah, sorry. I know.”

“No problem,” Chin said with a smile. “Go downstairs and swim lengths until you're wobbly. Then I'll get Kamekona to make you some warm milk.”

“I'm not a kid,” Steve objected, although the idea of being told what to do by someone else was pretty appealing. As was the warm milk.

“No, you're not. You're a guy who's barely slept in weeks and who's taken on a new job that involves trying to catch the man who killed your father. Now, go swim until it hurts.”

Steve grinned at him, clapped Chin on the shoulder and headed down to the pool. His friend was right. He'd wear himself out, get his mind into the quiet place he found swimming, and try to get a good night's sleep. Tomorrow they had a shop to visit, courtesy of Ramses' information, and he was going to get Kamekona to start sorting out his mother's clothes. He didn't need them to remember her.

 

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

Kono hoped to God the guys got in place soon, because there was only so long she could feign interest in shawls at the front of the shop without the owner expecting her to buy one. She wasn't really a shawl sort of woman, if she was being honest with herself, and she certainly didn't have the Arabic skills to fool the shopkeeper she was local if she had to enter into an extended round of haggling. 

She wished, again, that she could be in the antiques shop around the corner with Steve and Danny, but they needed someone to watch the rear of the shop and Kono could be made to blend in much more easily than Chin. She was swathed in the robe and veils the Egyptian women wore and was growing to admire their fortitude with every passing second. 

There was so much cloth. Every movement seemed to have to be made to work around or through a piece of fabric. And she felt like she was cooking, just standing still in the shade of the shops of the souk, the Khan el Kalili. Okay, so she had her normal attire, working trousers, shirt and boots on under the robes, but she was sure even if she hadn't, they'd be too hot. She took a deep breath and tried to look at the positive side of things, at least there weren't corsets involved. 

A shout rang out from behind her, and then another, and she heard the thump of running feet. Without even having to turn to look, she knew that someone was making a break for it from the rear of the shop Steve and Danny were in. Finally, she said to herself, and, dropping the scarf she'd been looking at for far too long, she stepped into the path of the escaping man. 

She turned to face him, slipping her outer robe off her shoulders so she had some chance of not tripping over the damn thing. The man coming towards her wasn't much taller than she was, but he was at least twice as wide at the shoulder, and had a chest like a barrel. His steps faltered a little, obviously surprised at the sudden appearance of what must have looked, as least until she'd dropped the abiya, like a middle class house wife preparing to take him on. 

Kono could see the thoughts pass quickly on his face. Surprise, confusion, dawning realization that it was only a woman standing in his way. One of life's most important lessons, thought Kono, as she shifted her balance backwards slightly and landed a bone-crunching kick to the man's right knee as he tried to shove past her, was to never underestimate you opponent. She was more than happy to be the one to teach this fool that lesson. The man crumpled with a howl of pain, clutching his leg. The street was completely silent, shopkeepers and their customers looking on in surprise. 

She pushed him over on to his stomach with her booted foot, knelt on his back with one knee and grabbed his hand to snap on the handcuffs Steve had given her. That was when all hell broke loose around her. The shop owners seemed to wake up from their stupor and feel the need to get involved with the scene unfolding before them. They rushed forward, shouting and waving their arms, clearly with no idea what to do. Here was a woman, until moments ago a customer at one of the shops, suddenly turning around and attacking a one of their own who happened to be running past. Kono ignored them, forcing the man's hand behind his back and snapping the cuff around his wrist. 

Feeling the cuff snap closed seemed to give the man a renewed sense of purpose and he rolled, attempting to knock Kono off his back. She reached up, grabbing his hair, and banged his face hard into the floor. She heard something crunch and he groaned, and stilled. She grabbed his other hand and snapped it into the cuffs. 

She levered herself off his back, only to be immediately surrounded by irate shopkeepers all yelling at her. She had been learning off of Steve and Chin, but she knew her linguistic skills weren't on a par with her fighting. She took a breath and mustered up the best Arabic should could. “Quiet. Police. Still keep.” 

It worked for about thirty seconds and then the people were pressing in again, yelling at her and at each other. The man she'd cuffed started struggling again, moaning as he tried to get his feet under him. Kono gave him swift kick to the ribs, before putting her foot on his neck. She drew the gun she'd pushed in the side of her boot before they'd left the house and pointed it at the crowd. They drew back, but they weren't happy about it, and she knew how ugly a mob could get. She hoped her backup arrived soon, or she might have to resort to real violence. 

  


Chin sat in the driver's seat of Danny's car, trying his best to look like a bored driver waiting for his wealthy employers, rather than the heavily armed backup he was. He'd dressed in his most chauffeur-like suit and pulled on the motoring cap they'd found when they raided Jack McGarrett's closet. Some of the things they'd found in there made Chin pretty sure that Steve's father had been doing some heavy duty undercover work over the years. When they had time, he'd catalog everything and try to match it up to McGarrett senior's case notes. 

Maybe he could get Steve involved, keep him from brooding. But the man had never been good at the paper work side of things. He could do it, and do it well if he had to, but it was never his first choice for finding a solution to a problem. That was why he liked Danny. The man knew what solved cases, or found Filipino rebels, it was leg work and good note keeping. Steve's brand of direct frontal assault only really worked when he had people like Danny and Chin to fill in the gaps. Kono, well, she was more like Steve than Chin cared to think about. If they ever did return to Hawaii, then her mother was going to kill him. 

Another car pulled alongside his, stopping at the gate of the Khan el Kahlili, its occupants clambering out and stripping off the cumbersome motoring outfits they wore. Chin never understood the need for a special set of clothes simply for driving, especially in the city. These people wouldn't have worn them in a carriage, and a car didn't travel any more quickly when the streets were filled with slow moving people and intransigent camels. Fashion, he supposed. 

“I say, you,” one of the men said, approaching Chin's car. “You there, driver. We're rather in need of someone to take care of the motor. Don't suppose you could oblige?”

Chin sighed. Just what he needed. He couldn't tell the idiot to just get lost because it would draw too much attention to him, but he really needed the man to go away. Much as he hated to, he knew he had to play his trump card. Looking up, letting the approaching Englishman see his face, he spoke. “No English.” 

“I say,” the man said, obviously surprised by this unexpected turn of events. He tugged on the thin chain that ran into his vest pocket and produced a monocle, scrunching his face to peer at Chin through it. Excellent, not only a idiot, but a pretentious one at that.

“No English,” Chin repeated, a little more firmly.

“The blighter's a Chinaman,” the man said, turning to his friends. “What the bloody hell's a chink doing driving a car?”

“I dare say he drives for one of the embassies,” one of the women answered, reasonably. 

“Well, it's not much use to us, is it?” the man said again, still standing next to Chin's car. “I'm not leaving the motor here if we can't find someone to watch over it. You know how light-fingered the fellahin are.”

Chin bristled for the poor Egyptians who had to put up with idiots like this in their country. It was a sad truth that many of the British tourists, and a large number of the governing elite, didn't seem to much like the people of the country they were visiting. Or occupying, in the case of the bureaucrats. But then, the Americans who occupied his own country weren't really any better. 

“I'm sure the Chinese Ambassador, or whoever it is, didn't set out to ruin your day, Arthur,” the woman pointed out very sensibly. Chin rather liked her.

“There isn't a Chinese embassy in Egypt,” the other man in the little group said, approaching the car. Chin shifted under the man's sharp gaze, trying to make sure he looked like he hadn't a clue what was being said.

“Then I'm sure it's just an eccentric visitor,” the woman said, obviously getting irritated by her companions. “Can we please go shopping now?”

“Not without someone to guard the motor,” the first man, who Chin had now christened The Idiot in his head, complained.

The Idiot turned to Chin. “You,” he said, pointing at him, “look,” pointing at his own eyes, “after my motor,” gesturing to the car. “Dinar,” he got out some coins. “Good?” 

Chin was very tempted to take the coins just to get rid of him, and then perhaps try to sell the car and all its contents before the people got back. Or he could just punch the man in the nose. 

There was a shout from the Khan, followed by more voices raised in alarm. Chin turned, as did The Idiot and his friends, to look through the gate of the huge souk. He couldn't see anyone coming his way yet, but he was sure they were. He pressed the button to fire the starter motor, hugely glad he didn't have to get out to crank the handle like he'd had to on the Ford Ts he'd driven. 

He pushed the gear shift into reverse and eased the car back, taking great care not to run over The Idiot, who was virtually standing on the running boards. He turned the wheel and shifted into the first forward gear and drove forwards, effectively blocking the gate. 

“Where are you going?” the Idiot's friend asked, turning away from the gate of the Khan, eying Chin suspiciously.

Chin didn't have time to formulate an answer before a man wearing a fez and Turkish robes, waving a pistol around, came charging along the road out of the gateway and towards the cars. The little group seemed frozen, both men rooted to the spot and only the woman raising her hand to her mouth as though she was about to scream. The sound never came though as the Turk saw his escape blocked and grabbed the woman, holding the gun to her head. 

Chin was standing on the seat of the car, aiming his shot gun at the man, before either The Idiot or his friend even seemed to comprehend what had happened. 

“Police,” Chin shouted in Arabic, knowing it was a lie, but he wasn't about to try to explain a US ambassador's special task force. “Put your weapon down, and let the woman go.”

“Bloody hell, the Chinaman's got a gun,” the Idiot said, confirming his status as the dumbest person Chin had ever had the misfortune to meet.

“Arthur,” the woman complained, seemingly more annoyed by her stupid companion than by the gun to her head. “Do be quiet.”

“Yes, Arthur,” Chin said, making The Idiot gape like a fish. “Shut up.”

“Well of all the...”

“Walsingham!” The Idiot's friend snapped, cutting off whatever foolishness he was about to say before turning to Chin. “I hope you've got a better plan than that shotgun, because you'll kill her if you fire it.”

Just what he needed, a backseat hostage negotiator. Chin ignored him, keeping his attention on the Turk. “Put down the gun.” 

“It is as he says,” the Turk replied, his English perfect and his voice dripping with sarcasm. “You can't shoot me with that weapon, not without killing her, so we appear to have reached an impasse.”

“I can wait,” Chin replied, not feeling anywhere near as confident as he sounded.

He only had to hold the guy here until Steve, Danny and Kono came to help. Which they would eventually, he knew that, it just depended on what they were doing. Maybe The Idiot's friend was right. Maybe he did need another plan. 

  


Steve grunted and dodged the punch. He was knew he was trying to do too many things at once, including analyzing his actions, but he had long since accepted that this was what it was like working with a new team. And this one was new, even if he'd worked with Chin for years and had known Kono for nearly as long. 

They were in a new country with a new team member, one who was currently punching a suspect twice his size repeatedly in the stomach to little effect. And Kono, who was out the back of the shop somewhere on her own, was an active part of his operation, something the Navy had never, ever, knowingly allowed. 

“Trade off,” Steve shouted, and grinned with relief when Danny understood immediately and danced away from his big, lumbering sparring partner and squared off with the wiry fighter Steve had engaged. Changing things up didn't stop Steve worrying about the rest of his team, but he felt better once he'd spun and landed a roundhouse kick on the big guy's temple that made him stagger back into a pile of carpets. Why couldn't the bad guys be using a shop that had hard surfaces?

There was a muffled thud behind him and he risked a glance to check Danny was okay. The detective was standing over the prone form their suspect, the broken remains of a wooden stool in his hand. Trust Danny to find the only solid object in the shop. Steve dodged a lumbering swing from his opponent and landed another kick to the man's guts that should have floored him. The guy was clearly too stupid to feel pain. Steve was debating just shooting the guy, because he suspected someone this dumb would probably be as much help dead as alive. 

He heard Danny click handcuffs onto the downed suspect and knew the detective would probably want to help him fight the oaf he'd just punched in the face. But Steve knew eventually this guy would go down and he needed to know the rest of his team was okay. 

“I'm going to check on Kono,” Danny said, already heading towards the back room of the small shop and the door that lead to the alley at the back.

Again Steve was supremely grateful to whatever deity had brought Danny to Egypt. He took a breath and focused entirely on the man he was fighting. He needed to finish this and go check on Chin. He swung another roundhouse at the guy's head, but the oaf seemed to have suddenly learned to block and Steve found himself face down on the stack of carpets. 

He rolled on to his back and sprung up to a standing position in one fluid movement, which obviously astounded his opponent so much he stopped in his tracks. Steve took full advantage of the man's shock and punched him in the throat. The man crumpled, clutching at his neck and gasping for breath. Steve flipped him onto his front and dragged his hands down behind his back and cuffed them together. 

He rolled the man on his side, feeling his throat, checking just how much damage he'd done. The big man was dragging in little choked off breaths that Steve knew meant his windpipe was damaged. There was only one way to fix this and he didn't really have time for it. But he couldn't very well leave the guy to die, no matter how dumb he appeared to be. He looked frantically around the shop for something he could use and saw nothing. Damn. 

Then he remembered the other man, the one Danny had dispatched with the stool, had been smoking a cigarette, complete with a rather ostentatious mother of pearl holder when they'd first entered the shop. Steve moved quickly, rolling the unconscious man onto his back and riffling through his pockets. He pulled out books of matches, lint, a few coins, a folded sheet of notepaper that he pocketed to read later, string, a pocket knife, but no cigarette case. Steve swore. He knew it had to be there somewhere, but he didn't have time to search the whole shop. He looked back towards the man he'd punched and realized he didn't have time to search anything. 

And then he saw it, sticking out from under the edge of the rug the smaller man had been showing them before all hell broke loose. He grabbed the case, flipped it open and thanked God that the holder was in there. He snatched up one of the books of matches that he'd found and drew his own knife. 

“This is going to hurt, but I'm going to make sure you can breathe,” he explained in Arabic, but wasn't sure the man could hear anymore.

He lit a match and held the blade of the knife in the flame, hoping it was hot enough to sterilize the blade. It wasn't perfect, especially with the smoky flame turning the blade dark, but it was all he had. Once he got home that evening, he was going to put together a little kit of useful things, like matches, rubbing alcohol, string, dressings, something like the kit he'd carried as a soldier, just smaller. 

The blade was black but hot, so he figured it would do. He lit two matches at the same time and flamed the cigarette holder, wishing he could be confident he wasn't dooming the man to infection. But at least this way he had a chance of living. 

He felt for the rings of cartilage that made up the larynx, counting down to the last one and then pushing the blade of the knife in, parallel to the rings. It slid in easily and the man never even flinched, making Steve worry he was already too late. He levered the knife up, pushed in the cigarette holder, forcing it between the rings of cartilage and into the man's windpipe. 

There was a whooshing whistle and air flowed through the tube, color coming back to the man's face as his lungs started to get enough oxygen again. He didn't move though, and Steve wondered if he'd been without an air supply too long. There was nothing he could do about that right then, though, he reasoned with himself. He needed to go and check on Chin. 

He stood, checking briefly that both men were securely cuffed, and then ran out of the shop onto the bustling crowds of the Khan. Except it wasn't really bustling so much as blocked by a crowd of people standing and gaping at something in the gateway of the bazaar, just around the turn in the narrow street. He elbowed his way through, issuing apologies and threats as he went. He had a bad feeling about what he was going to find, something he'd long since learned to trust, and drew his gun. 

He rounded the bend in the street, and saw the reason for the crowd. The Turk, whose entrance into the shop had changed their little operation from subtle gathering of intelligence to a fist fight, was in a standoff with Chin. Steve had no doubt that Chin could have dropped the guy where he stood before he managed to pull the trigger on the pistol he carried, were it not for the woman he'd obviously grabbed as a hostage. Adding another line to his mental check list of lessons learned from this little operation, he realized he needed to get Chin a handgun as well as his favored shotgun. 

Steve raised his gun, taking aim at the Turk's head as he moved forward and to the left, making sure that any shot he took wouldn't hit the people behind the man. He saw on Chin's face the moment he spotted Steve, noting the easing of tension in his shoulders. He mentally kicked himself for taking so long to reach his team mate. 

He was about the shout an order at the Turk to surrender when the man decided to make his move, obviously taking Chin relaxing posture as a sign of weakening resolve. The Turk's arm moved, bringing the gun away from the hostage and pointing it towards Chin. Steve didn't hesitate; he squeezed the trigger and shot once, hitting the back of the man's head. 

Blood and brains spattered forward, the woman screamed and staggered sideways, to be caught by a man who quickly stepped from the edge of the gateway. Chin jumped off the car and strode forward, his shotgun still trained on the fallen man. He kicked the pistol away from the man's hand following the protocol Steve and he always used, even though he was sure the man was very dead. 

The crowd around Steve all began to press forward, as though those at the back wanted to get a good look at the show. Steve wondered if Danny and Kono were having the same problem and found himself grateful when he heard the shrill sound of a policeman's whistle signaling the arrival of the Cairo Police. 

  


“Look, Mainwaring,” Danny started.

“That's Inspector Mainwaring to you,” the man interrupted, his mustache bristling with indignation.

“Inspector Mainwaring,” Danny amended, managing to keep his eyes from rolling. “We have been assigned to this case, by the Ambassador of the United States of America, with the full agreement Assistant Commissioner Russell.”

“I doubt either of those two gentlemen were expecting shootouts in the Khan,” Mainwaring spat, his face getting redder and redder as he spoke. “And I'm positive they weren't expecting you to involve a woman in your illegal schemes. Especially some wog from god knows where.”

“A wog?” Danny asked, his voice low and dangerous enough to make Mainwaring step back. “That woman over there, who can no doubt hear you insulting her, is from the Territory of Hawaii. She's smart, she's got more of an instinct for police work that most of the men in your force have, and I would rather have her at my back in a fight than ten of you. Now, you're going to go over there and apologize to her for being an unpleasant human being and I might just forget I saw you last week coming out of one of El Gharbi's places in the red blind district.”

“You did no such thing,” Mainwaring argued, outrage making his face even redder.

“Maybe, maybe not,” Danny said, his hands wide and his shoulders coming up in an exaggerated shrug. “But I'll make damn sure everyone thinks it's true.”

“You...you...”

“Now then, Mainwaring,” a male voice said from behind Danny. “Why don't you go and supervise the statements being taken from the crowd in the street?”

Danny turned and saw Thomas Russell himself standing at the doorway of the rear of the shop. This couldn't be a good thing. You didn't drag the Assistant Commissioner out of his nice cool office with your shenanigans and expect there to not be repercussions. He just hoped the man would understand that they hadn't intended to do more that have a look around the shop and see what the men were up to. 

“Very good, sir,” Mainwaring said, the veins in his neck standing out in his obvious struggle to not strangle Danny.

“And perhaps you'd better apologize to Miss, err,” and here Russell looked to Kono for an answer.

“Kalakaua,” she replied with a duck of her head in acknowledgment and thanks. “Kono Kalakaua.”

“Thank you, Miss Kalakaua,” Russell continued, not even stumbling over the name and its unfamiliar shape.

“I do apologize, miss,” Mainwaring muttered, before turning and striding out of the cramped office to the main room at the frint of the shop.

“The man really is a crashing bore, Miss Kalakaua,” Russell said in a low voice, ensuring only Danny and Kono could hear him. “But he doesn't deserve to be tarred with the particular brush you threatened him with, Williams. Unless, of course, he really was there.”

“He wasn't, sir,” Danny admitted, feeling chastened by Russell's words. He really did respect the man and hated to feel like he'd disappointed him in any way.

“Good,” Russell said, with a little nod of his head. “Now, let's have your report of what happened here so I have all the facts when Philippides goes to whine about it to Harvey Pasha.”

Danny didn't much like the head of the political CID, Philippides, but for reasons that no one could fathom, Commissioner Harvey seemed to think he was brilliant. He was an unpleasant man, who seemed more interested in what he could achieve at the expense of others than in doing his job. Not that Danny thought the job was all that necessary. If someone committed a crime, regardless of the motivation, he should be punished. Egypt didn't need political police trying to clamp down on people's wish for self determination. He really wanted to make sure Russell's faith in Steve, and by extension Danny, wasn't ill founded. 

“Well, sir,” he started, trying to order his thoughts and tell a cohesive narrative. “We received information that this shop was being used as a meeting place by the people who Steve's father was investigating.”

“Who gave you the information?” Russell asked, his brows drawing together in an impressive frown.

“I know who it was, sir,” Danny replied, trying to think how to phrase his answer to not offend his superior officer but protect Ramses if he'd given the information in confidence. “But, can you ask Steve about it, because I suspect that it shouldn't be common knowledge, and he got the information?”

Russell looked at him for a few moments, unblinking and looking every bit as sharp as people said he was. “Alright, I'll speak to McGarrett.” 

“Thank you, sir,” Danny said, tension sliding out of his shoulders. “As I said, we arrived here intending to gather intelligence under the guise of buying a carpet. Anticipating there might be people wanting to slip out of the shop unseen, however, Sergeant Kelly took up a position in the car at the gate to the Khan and Miss Kalakaua was set to watch the rear of the shop.”

“And you agreed to this, Miss?” Russell asked Kono, who was leaning against a stack of carpets, dressed in trousers, shirt and riding boots, the robes she'd worn long since gone. Danny could understand Russell's obvious skepticism. Her pretty face and slim build looked more suited to sipping tea and gossiping with friends than working in a police team.

“Of course, sir,” Kono said, standing up straight and matching Danny's easy but respectful stance. “I was wearing full robes and veil and no one suspected I wasn't there to shop. It was easy to see anyone who came through the backdoor of the shop.”

“Quite,” Russell said, obviously unsure what to make of Kono. “Do continue, Sergeant Williams.”

“Yes, sir,” Danny answered, hiding the smile he felt brewing at what Russell was going to say when he heard just what Kono had done. “We, Steve and I, were in the shop, drinking some coffee and admiring the rugs, when a Turkish gentleman entered. It was immediately obvious that he didn't expect to find us there, and that he knew who we were. Or we think he did. He was the one that Steve shot at the gate. Anyway, he pretended that he had a better poker face than he did and went into the back of the shop.”

“Did you recognize him?” Russell asked.

“No, none of us did,” Danny replied. “Be he definitely knew us. After a few moments, the big fella, the one with the tracheotomy...”

“Tracheotomy?”

“Yes, sir,” Danny said with a sigh, feeling stupid for mentioning it. “Steve punched him in the throat, collapsing his larynx and causing him to stop breathing. To save his life, he performed a tracheotomy with his knife and a cigarette holder.”

Russell stood blinking for a few moments, obviously speechless. Danny had to admit to feeling much the same way when Steve had told him. 

“Anyway,” Danny continued, hoping to get through the story quickly before Steve, who was still searching the main room at the front of the shop, finished and decided to cause mayhem elsewhere. “The big man and the man in the suit came out of the back of the shop, obviously with instructions to incapacitate us. The shopkeeper made a break for it, running out of the back while Steve and I fought with the other two.”

“And did you see where he went?” Russell asked Kono, sounding like he was feeling a little pleased with himself for including her in the conversation. Danny smirked, knowing the poor man's Victorian sensibilities were about to receive a severe blow.

“Where he went, sir?” Kono asked, genuinely baffled by the question.

“Yes, my dear. Did you follow him?”

“No,” she replied, and Danny was outright grinning now, because Russell was clearly confused as to her role. “I stopped him when he tried to run.”

“You stopped him?” Russell asked, looking at Danny for confirmation. “You didn't shoot him, did you?”

“No, I barely hurt him,” Kono denied indignantly, shrugging slightly when Danny cleared his throat in a meaningful way. “Well, he might have a limp for a while and he's not going to win any beauty contests again either.”

“You fought him?” Russell asked, probably more horrified about that than with the thought of Steve doing emergency surgery in the shop. “With your fists?"

“One kick, sir,” Kono boasted, standing up even straighter and raising her chin in defiance. “And I may have banged his face into the floor a couple of times. But he could have done that falling over.”

“I thought I was used to women interfering,” Russell sighed finally, pulling a cigarette from his case and tapping it on the closed lid. “But Mrs. Emerson and Miss Forth don't go around fighting in the street.”

“Sir,” Steve said, coming into the backroom of the small shop, “you and Ambassador Jameson gave me full control of the team I picked and how I did the job.”

“We did McGarrett,” Russell agreed, looking at the man's slightly disheveled appearance and probably doubting his decision. “But I think I can speak for both of us when I say we didn't expect this.”

“There's no law against a woman doing the job Kono is doing,” Steve pointed out, drawing up to his full height as if he could intimidate Russell into agreeing with him.

Danny winced, that was never going to work. He dug in his pocket and pulled out the cigarette lighter he carried for just this type of occasion. He sparked it alight and held it out for Russell, who put his cigarette to his lips and nodded his thanks to Danny. The detective wondered if he was going to have to sit Steve down and have a little chat about catching more flies with honey than vinegar. 

“Perhaps not, but I'm sure you understand that we can't have women running around taking the law into their own hands. It's just not done.”

“With all due respect, sir,” Danny interrupted, actually getting angry with Russell for not living up to the reputation he had for fairness. “In the short time that I've worked with Sergeant Kelly and Miss Kalakaua, they have displayed all the characteristics of exemplary police officers and you should be grateful that their skills are available to you.”

“Skills?” Russell asked, looking angrily at Danny. “And what might they be?”

“Since you ask, Chin, Sergeant Kelly that is, has in the space of around two days developed a card index system that will make the Cairo Police the envy of the world when it comes to managing data on suspects. Miss Kalakaua, as you have already heard, can get into situations that no male officer would be able to, and yet is more than capable of looking after herself should the need arise.”

Russell didn't say anything for a while, just drew on his cigarette and looked at Danny until the detective wanted to squirm away and hide. So much for the honey and vinegar chat with Steve. This was some kind of tipping point, Danny could feel it. If they failed now, they'd get shut down completely, or at least have so many restrictions placed on them that they'd be unable to do the job Steve had laid out for them. 

“You are correct, Sergeant Williams,” Russell said eventually, stubbing out his cigarette in the ashtray he found on the desk. “It was perhaps a shock to my world view, a view that I think needs a little revising with regards to the err, gentler sex.”

“Thank you,” Steve breathed, and Danny could tell from the way his posture relaxed that he'd felt the importance of the conversation too. “I didn’t mean to interrupt Danny's report to you, but we're done with the search of the shop and haven't really found much of any use. We need to question the prisoners.”

“I can provide you with a room or two at headquarters,” Russell offered.

“We'll only need one, I think,” Steve explained, grinning at Kono. “The big guy has gone to hospital to have his throat operated on. And the one Kono took down needs to get his leg set and his face stitched back together.”

“You broke his leg?” Russell asked Kono, finally realizing what 'limp for a while' meant.

“His knee is dislocated too, sir,” Kono replied, a faint look of smugness on her face. 

“Of course it is,” Russell muttered, shaking his head slightly. “You will keep me informed, Commander McGarrett?”

“Yes, sir,” Steve agreed, drawing himself up and, Danny could tell, fighting the urge to salute.

“Very good.” Russell walked into the main room of the shop and out of the door. He called to Mainwaring as he stepped into the street and turned in the direction of the reply, disappearing from their view.

“Was there really nothing here?” Danny asked, once they had the room to themselves.

“No,” Steve said, a small smug smile twisting his lips upwards. “But Ramses said to trust no one.”

Steve pulled some crumpled pages covered in a spider's web of scratchy Arabic text. Danny sighed. He was learning Arabic, could even speak some words, but there was no use pretending that the writing wasn't always going to elude him. 

“I found one in the pocket of our man in the suit and the others pushed under a stack of rugs,” Steve continued, looking more than a little smug about his find. “I figure Kono and Chin can go back to the house with these and start translating them, while we go and question suit-man.”

“I can't translate that,” Kono objected, clearly wanting to go with the two men to question the prisoner.

“But you can't come to headquarters,” Steve told her before Danny could. “Most policemen are like Mainwaring and besides I want to keep you as a secret weapon for a while longer.”

“It'll be all around town before dinner,” Danny pointed out, even though it was probably not what Steve wanted to hear. “Most people have nothing better to do than gossip.”

“Maybe, but at least we can try to not let them all know what she looks like,” Steve explained, handing the notes to Kono and striding out of the door.

  


“Where exactly are we going?” Danny asked, looking around at the large houses they drove past. “And yes, before you come back with some line you think is hilarious, I know we're in Gezira.”

“We're going to see an old friend of my dad's,” Steve replied, flashing Danny a bland little smile that did nothing to hide the fact that he was up to something.

“And why have we brought our silent friend with us?”

“He wasn't going to tell us anything before Hesse had time to hear about our raid and tidy up his loose ends,” Steve explained, turning the car into the driveway of a property that dwarfed that of Stanley Edwards. “I thought we might give him some encouragement to talk more quickly.”

“And what?” Danny asked, as the car came to a stop outside the grand entrance of the house. “You think a civilized cup of tea is going to loosen his tongue? A nice stroll in the grounds will make him see the error of his ways.”

“Something like that,” Steve said with a wolfish grin, and Danny's heart tripped a beat. This was insane. They should be back at headquarters questioning this guy, or going to the hospital to pick up the man Kono had maimed, not doing whatever mad thing Steve had planned.

The door to the house opened, but instead of the butler or footman he was expecting, a long-limbed, middle-aged man dressed in a crisp linen suit came bounding down the steps to greet them. “Steven, Steven. So good to see you again.” 

“You too, Tom,” Steve said with a grin, taking the man's proffered hand and shaking it vigorously. “Danny, this is Thomas Darley, seventh Duke of Danforth. Tom, this is Daniel Williams, a detective with the Cairo Police and now my partner.”

“A detective?” the duke said, gripping Danny's hand and nearly crushing it with the enthusiasm of his grip. “How exciting.”

“Not nearly as much as you'd expect,” Danny responded, giving the automatic answer for when people thought his life was an adventure story. He did suspect that further time spent with Steve may make people's assumptions about his work more accurate.

“Oh, yes, quite,” the duke agreed, his face serious. “Lots of paper work and reading reports, I expect. Very dull.”

“Sorry to cut this short, Tom,” Steve said, looking like he was all business and not a crazy man. “But we need to use your pets for a while.”

“You do?” the duke asked with a pleased smile. “They'll be pleased to see you. We lost Bully and Bob since you were last here, but I have a few new ones for you to meet. I wonder if Sasha will remember you? She was always fond of you.”

“She's still here?” Steve looked genuinely happy and Danny was getting more and more confused. What were they going to do? Threaten the prisoner with dogs? Horses?

Steve grabbed the silent man from the back of the car, and Danny could tell the guy was as unsure of what was going on as Danny was. The duke glanced at the handcuffed man as though he'd noticed him for the first time. “Oh, I see. I hoped it was a social visit.” 

“We can do that too,” Steve said, marching the prisoner down the path behind the duke. “Can't we, Danny?”

“Sure, we can be social,” Danny replied, eying the rocks in the formal garden and wondering if he could get away with claiming it was an accident if he lobbed one at Steve's head. “I can be as social as you'd like.”

“Splendid,” the duke said, loping off towards the rear of the house. “It's feeding time anyway.”

“Feeding time?”

“You know,” Steve started, giving the prisoner a shake to make sure he had his attention. “The Ancient Egyptians had a god called Sobek. They built temples to him, worshiped him, gave him offerings, everything. But they didn't know if he was a good god. Some said he created the land by lying eggs on the banks of the primal waters, others thought he protected the pharaoh, but he could also be a cruel god, taking away people from their loved ones. Whatever they thought though, they understood he was a powerful god.”

“Thanks for that, Professor McGarrett,” Danny quipped, getting really annoyed with Steve and his shenanigans. “You still haven't explained why we're here.”

“I thought you'd like to meet some old friends of mine,” Steve said, as they came around the corner of the house and looked over what in most properties would be a nice terrace filled with ornamental plants and uncomfortable chairs.

Instead, stretched before them, behind a thankfully solid looking set of iron railings, was a large pool with a small island in the center. Danny was about to comment on the odd garden arrangement when he realized the pool wasn't empty. In the murky water, their noses and eyes just sticking above the water, several crocodiles were lazily watching them. 

“Come on,” the duke shouted from where he stood near the bank. “They're quite peckish right now.”

He threw a chunk of meat, the shoulder of some unfortunate animal, bone and all, into the water. The water churned as the huge crocodiles dived for it, thrashing and rolling as they snapped and grabbed at their meal. 

“Don't give them any more,” Steve ordered, marching the now squirming prisoner towards a gate in the fence. “I want them hungry.”

“Well, they won't be happy,” the duke said, looking like he wasn't pleased either.

Steve unlatched the gate and kicked a lever that swung an iron bridge over the pool and connected their bank with the island. “Sobek was the crocodile god. People prayed at his temple so that they'd be protected from the crocodiles that swam in the Nile. They're the most vicious, most deadly of all crocodilians, you know? They drag you under and drown you, rolling you round and around, tearing off limbs.” 

“Steven,” Danny warned, finally managing to find his voice, hoping it sounded calmer than he felt. He had nightmares about crocodiles, lurking, waiting to drag you down into the depths and rip you to shreds. “You are not going to feed the prisoner to the crocodiles, are you? There'll be forms to fill in. You know I hate forms.”

“Relax.” Steve was calm as you like as he dragged the handcuffed man over to the island and pushed him off the edge of the bridge. He forced the man down onto his side, facing the water and the crocodiles that were now circling the island lazily, obviously used to people.

“No, no,” the handcuffed man pleaded, the first words he'd spoken all day, which made Danny think this perhaps wasn't the worst idea. “You can't. You can't. Don't.”

Steve ignored the man's protests, quickly stepping back on the bridge and swinging it back to the bank, cutting off the island. The man was still trying to struggle to his feet as Steve closed the gate and came over to where Danny and the duke stood. 

Steve reached into the big bucket of meat and hurled a chunk into the water right in front of the man. The crocodiles lunged forward, churning the water and the man screamed and scuttled backwards, away from the edge. 

“Steve, seriously,” Danny warned, because he really didn't want to watch a man get torn apart by crocodiles, no matter who he might be.

“It's fine,” Steve assured him in a soft voice, turning his back on the island. “The banks of the island are vertical, with an overhang covered by grass and reeds. The crocs can't get out.”

“It's true,” the duke agreed, looking very earnest. “I made it so I can get close to them. We have dinner out there sometimes.”

“Dinner?” Danny squeaked, his voice high even to his own ears. “You sit out here with them?”

“It's fun,” Steve insisted, looking gleeful and suddenly about twelve years old. “I remember having dinner with Mom and Dad, and Mary was so scared at first. Then Tom told us all their names and showed us how they were actually tame.”

“Tame? Those aren't tame. Show me one tame creature in that pool and I'll show you a flying pig.”

“Oh, Sasha's quite gentle, really,” the duke assured Danny, making a move towards the fence.

“No, don't,” Steve said, grabbing the duke's arm. “We need to get this guy to talk. He might know who killed my father.”

The duke blinked at Steve, and Danny cursed his partner's loose tongue. You didn't go around telling friends of the victim who your suspects were. Knowing stuff like that made people do stupid things like trying to kill people in revenge or plant evidence to get a conviction. 

“Right,” the duke said, seeming to pull himself up. He suddenly looked less like a foolish old buffer, as the British called men of a certain age and type, and more like someone who you really didn't want to cross. He picked up a shoulder of meat and flung it so it landed right on the edge of the island. The crocodiles rushed towards it and the man on the island shrieked, jumping back and tripping over his own feet. He landed near the back of the island, rolling on to his side and coming face to face with a big croc that had obligingly swum around the far side of the pool.

“Nice shot,” Danny found himself saying, because even in the worst of situations there was something beautiful about a perfectly weighted throw. And you should let a man know that.

“Full blue for Oxford, 1881,” the duke said proudly, as though he thought Danny could understand what he meant.

The suspect rolled to the center of the island, facing the three men on the shore. His face was white and Danny could tell he was close to cracking. The detective didn't like the method but it seemed to be working. The duke studied the roiling water and threw another piece over the heads of the crocodiles, one of which lunged upwards and snapped it out of the air. The enormous creature landed almost on the island, slapping down hard on the water and splashing their reticent suspect. 

“Alright, I'll talk,” the man shouted from the island. “Just get me off here. Please.”

Steve turned and flashed Danny a smug little grin, before jogging to the bridge and swinging it out to the island. Danny sighed, wishing in a way that the man hadn't cracked. This was like rewarding Steve for his bad behavior. There was going to be no living with him now. 

  


“Okay, talk,” Steve ordered the shaking suspect as he pushed him up against the railings of the pool. He was under no illusions that giving the man the time the journey back to HQ would take would let him regain his composure.

“I don't... I can't,” the man tried, his face pale and his whole body jittering with fear.

“What's your name?” Danny asked, interrupting the man.

Steve was about to turn and snap at his partner for asking stupid questions when the guy answered. “Byron Hameed.” 

“Byron?” both men said together, their voices high with surprise.

“My mother was a foolish woman,” he said, his chin rising up a little in defiance over what was obviously an old hurt. “She was affected by the story of your poet.”

“He's not my poet, babe,” Danny objected, his hand raised to make his point. “I think the Brits have to answer for that one. Never was one for the Romantics myself. Now, the metaphysical poets, they knew what they were doing. 'License my roving hands, and let them go, Behind, before, above, between, below. Oh my America, my new found land, My kingdom, safeliest when with one man manned.' That's poetry. Gets under your skin. Does things to you.”

Steve stared at Danny, only vaguely aware that Byron was doing exactly the same. Danny was right, it did do things to him, at least when Danny spoke the words. He imagined hands on him, Danny's hands, exploring and claiming. He wanted to let go of the ridiculously named suspect and find out if Danny could ever think of him as his new found land. 

“What?” Danny asked indignantly, breaking the spell. “I can't like poetry? Because I'm a New Jersey cop, I shouldn't read John Donne?”

“No,” Steve managed to choke out, then cleared his throat and tried for a better reply. “You just seem more like a naughty limerick kind of guy.”

“Limericks?” Danny squawked, his hands raised in horrified anger. “Seriously? That's what you're going to throw at me? When I've stood quietly by and let you try to feed our suspect to crocodiles?”

“Quietly?” His definition of quiet must be different to Danny's.

“It's a good thing I'm so tolerant,” Danny replied, without any outward signs he was being ironic. “If you'd gotten yourself one of those old school, by the book types as a partner, you'd be up the metaphorical creek without a paddle.”

“Are you two going to argue all day?” Byron asked, looking more annoyed than scared. Maybe he needed to go back on the island.

“Who are you working for?” Steve asked, giving the man a vigorous shake just to make sure he remembered who was in charge.

“I'm not working for anyone,” the Egyptian answered, his chin going up again, defying either of them to argue with him.

“Oh, you're behind the murder of Steve's father, are you?” Danny said, his sarcasm not really hiding the underlying threat. “Because if you are, I'm not going to see Steve throw you in that pool.”

“No, no.” The man paled again and maybe Danny knew what he was doing after all when it came to interviewing suspects. “That was Hesse.”

“You know Hesse?” Steve demanded, tightening his grip on the man's shirt. “Where is he?”

“I don't know,” Byron answered, squeaking when Steve pushed him a little further over the railings. “Honestly. I've only met him once. We use the shop as a drop point. Ali, the shopkeeper, is someone Hesse and the Turk trust. We just work for them.”

“And that's it?” Danny asked.

“Yes,” Byron moaned, shrinking down against the railings when Steve let up his grip just a little. “Please. I don't know any more.”

“Right,” Danny scoffed, his face set in an exaggerated expression of complete skepticism. “And I'm the king of England. What about the note in your pocket? Is that just your shopping list?”

“What?” the Egyptian gasped, his arms twitching like they wanted to pat his pockets and check for the note.

“I bet you weren't supposed to keep the others either, were you?” Steve said, watching the fear grow on the man's face. “Hesse told you to never keep records, didn't he? And here you are with a sheet full of things you're supposed to have forgotten.”

“They're not...” he started to defend himself before clamping his mouth shut.

“They're not, what?” Steve asked, tightening his grip on the man's shirt again. “They're not yours? They're something you were supposed to pass on to Hesse?”

“A messenger from Bahariya Oasis brought them,” Byron admitted, slumping down in defeat.

“And you were supposed to pass them to Hesse?” Danny asked.

“Yes. Please, you have to protect me,” Byron begged, looking more terrified at the thought of what Hesse might do than during his time with the crocodiles. And that told Steve more about Hesse than anything else they had discovered. Not that they had much.

“I'll make sure you're safe,” Steve reassured him, glancing at Danny who ducked his head in agreement. “But I want to know everything you do.”

“Yes, okay,” Byron agreed, looking like he might shed tears of relief any minute. “Anything, just don't let Hesse get to me.”

It wasn't exactly the outcome he was hoping for when they caught their first suspect, but then he supposed this was what detective work was like. You followed leads, sometimes they went where you didn’t expect and sometimes they weren't as good as you hoped. Maybe he'd get Danny to start taking him through some of the cases he'd worked to give him some pointers. First though, he needed to get this guy locked up somewhere safe and then find out if Chin and Kono had found anything useful in the notes. 

  


Chin looked up as the door to the McGarrett house opened with a thud. Steve and Danny bowled in, arguing about something that involved the detective waving his hands and the Navy man rolling his eyes. 

“It was exactly like that,” Steve said to Danny, before turning to Chin. “How's translating the notes coming?”

“Slowly,” Chin had to admit. “My written Arabic's never been that good and your suspect...”

“Byron,” Steve and Danny interrupted in unison, grinning at little at each other when Chin felt himself screech to a halt mentally.

“Byron?”

“His mother was a fan,” Danny said with a shrug, before explaining the notes' origin. “But he didn't write them.”

“Huh,” Chin managed, before remembering he was in the middle of telling them what he'd found. “Anyway, whoever wrote the notes has the worst penmanship I've ever seen. He also seems to have carried on the Ancient Egyptian tradition of moving words around to make the sentence look good. Except his sentences are just confusing.”

“Maybe it's a code,” Steve said, looking just a little bit too excited.

“I think it's just the author's only mildly literate,” Chin argued, almost sorry to disappoint his friend.

“So what's the story?” Danny asked, getting them back to the point. “Because I have to say, we're kind of relying on those notes now. Unless Kono's casualty is talking. Where is she?”

“Swimming,” Chin replied, hiding a smile at Steve's look of longing towards the stairs to the pool. “You should join her, Steve. Danny and I can finish up here before dinner.”

“I don't get to frolic in the water?” Danny asked, trying to look wounded, but Chin could tell most of it was for show.

“Steve doesn't frolic,” Chin replied, looking at Steve who had his arms crossed, biceps straining his shirt sleeves. “He cuts through the water like a machine. So does Kono.”

Danny looked at Steve, who raised a single smug eyebrow, and rolled his eyes. “Yeah, I'll pass then. Go and swim yourself to a standstill while we get the information collated.” 

“Are you sure?” Steve asked both of them, but he was already edging towards the stairs.

“Go,” Danny said, waving his arms at the larger man like he was trying to waft away a wasp. “You need to relax.”

“And you don't?”

“Go on,” Chin ordered, before they could get into another argument. “Dinner will be ready in an hour.”

“Aye aye,” Steve said, offering a sloppy salute and jogging away happily.

Chin didn't fight his smile. Since he'd heard about his father's death, Steve had shut himself away behind unscalable walls, high enough to keep even his closest friends out, and Chin had felt powerless to help. And now those walls were coming down, no doubt because of the man standing next to him. 

“You don’t mind them swimming together?” Danny asked, flicking one of the cards between his fingers. “Most people... well, most people don't think unmarried men and women should be in the same room without a chaperone, let alone half naked in a pool.”

“Seriously, brah?” Chin was surprised that Danny had a problem with the way they were in their own home.

“I don't have a problem,” Danny protested, holding up his hands. “I just... it's unusual and, well. God, this is so hard.” Danny scrubbed his hand over his face. “Are they a couple?”

“Oh hell, no,” Chin said, shocked that Danny even thought that. He'd thought Danny understood that they were all just friends, that, as unconventional as they were, they were like a family.

“Kono’s a beautiful woman,” Danny explained, obviously trying to say what he meant without offending Chin. “Steve’s an attractive man, I can see them together.”

“If you’re trying to find out if you should ask Kono out to dinner, you can, but she’ll likely tell you no. She’s not interested in anything that would limit her freedom.”

“I wouldn’t,” Danny objected, and actually Chin believed that he’d try his best not to, defying every social convention in the process. “But I wasn’t asking that.”

“Well, you could ask Steve out, he might say yes,” Chin said with a laugh, making it seem like a joke even though he was pretty sure his friend would say yes. He just doubted Steve wanted his preferences broadcast to all and sundry when they could get him sent to prison. He was fairly sure Danny wasn’t going to do anything to hurt Steve, even if he didn’t have the same feelings, but he wasn't going to risk Steve's freedom and reputation.

“Right,” Danny said with a cough, blushing furiously and looking down at the cards on the table. “So, we should probably go through these notes.”

“Sure,” Chin agreed, letting the subject drop. He couldn't push the matter, and hopefully, if they were both inclined the same way, they would work it out. But looking at Danny determinedly shuffling cards and knowing how terrible Steve was at social interactions, he didn't really hold out much hope. Maybe he'd have to help bring the two men, his two friends, together. Happiness was too rare a thing to pass up when it was there for the taking, regardless of what society thought.

  


The last of the dinner plates had been cleared off the table and Kamekona had returned with a pot of coffee when they finally sat down to seriously analyze the notes Chin had translated. They'd rushed through dinner, barely doing justice to the excellent food Kamekona had made, all of them keen to get on with the notes. Steve had explained what little information they'd got from Byron, to which Danny had felt obliged to add his view of threatening suspects with crocodiles, which caused Steve to pout and the others to laugh. 

Chin had rigged up a kind of magic lantern that projected his neat handwritten translation onto the wall of the courtyard. Danny shook his head in disbelief at the technology the man gave them. He had no idea where the lantern itself came from, probably Steve's dad, but the idea of writing the notes on the slides and projecting them was amazing. Chin had also typed up a set of the translated notes on the machine he'd persuaded Russell to supply, making copies for all the team using carbon paper. The man was a genius. 

Danny had scanned through his set of notes, as everyone else did, while Chin got the projector up and running. He was hoping when they read through them together they'd make more sense than his quick read through. Steve, bless his little over achieving heart, was reading the original notes alongside his translation, his face scrunched up in concentration. 

The first slide, and he trusted Chin to get the noes in the right order, read: The one who is Turk begins his journey with the hen. There is Tuesday on a week. The leader who is mine brings greetings. 

Danny had no idea what that meant. The Turk had a hen? Seemed an odd thing to send a message about, and not really related to any plot to arm the Senussi. 

“Are you sure the word's hen?” Steve asked, squinting at the original note.

“I have no idea,” Chin sighed, both hands braced on the table. “It makes no sense, but I can't make the word into anything else.”

He pushed the next slide into the magic lantern, the note he'd translated projected on the wall. It read: The man of the past has spoken to the leader. He does bring himself in the house at dawn. 

“At least that one makes more sense,” Danny said, watching Steve frown over the note. “Well, except for the man of the past part. What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I did some reading on the Senussi from Jack's files,” Kono said, stumbling a little over McGarrett senior's name as though she wasn't sure how to refer to him. “The Senussi are a religious order rather than a separate tribe, who believe their founder is still with them, even though he's dead. At least that's what it seems to imply in Jack's notes. He also says they weren't violent fanatics until the Germans started whipping them up.”

“Maybe that's what the man of the past means,” Chin speculated. “They've consulted their dead leader and he's on board with the plan.”

“Seems a bit peculiar,” Danny said, scratching his nose. “But I suppose it's no stranger than thinking the wine drunk at communion actually becomes the blood of Christ.”

“Next you'll be saying you don't believe in Santa,” Chin said with a wry smirk, changing the slide.

The words appeared in the wall: Turk brings guns. The fire is good. More will come. 

“Well, that makes the most sense of all of them.” Danny was feeling a little more confident that they were on the right track with the investigation. “Although it doesn't tell us anything about Hesse.”

“Except that we've disrupted his plans by killing the Turk,” Kono pointed out, trying to lighten the mood slightly.

“True,” Steve agreed, but Danny could hear the frustration in his voice. “I just wish we had more to go on. What did you make of the last note, Chin?”

Chin winced slightly, and pushed the button on the lantern to display his translation of the last note. The final slide read: Our brother the black mountain is in the desert. In three days it will come home. The valley of the fifteen sheep is the place. One hundred rifles. 

“About the only thing I got from all that is someone, whose brother is a topographical feature, is getting some guns from Hesse,” Danny said, disappointment at being as confused as he was before making him sarcastic. He threw his copies of the notes down on the table in annoyance. This case was the most frustrating case he'd ever worked on, and he'd had some doozies back in New Jersey.

“I did the best I could,” Chin said, mostly apology, but tinged with a little defensiveness.

“No, hey,” Danny soothed, realizing what his comment must have sounded like. “You did a great job, way better than I ever could. The notes were written by a moron, is all.”

“Maybe not,” Steve suddenly said, standing abruptly and making his chair squeal backwards on the tile floor. He dashed across the courtyard and into his father's study, which Danny figured he should possibly be thinking of as Steve's study now. The team all stared after him, not moving until he rushed back clutching a map.

“The Black Mountain is out near Bahariya Oasis,” Steve explained, spreading out the map of the Western Desert and jabbing his finger down on a mess of contour lines and trackways. “It's a huge area of basalt in the middle of the desert. And Byron said the messenger came from Bahariya.”

“And the fifteen sheep?” Kono asked, because she was a brilliant woman who could also see Steve's next suggestion was to go out there.

Steve frowned at her, like she'd affronted his pride by asking a question he obviously didn't know the answer to. Before Danny could tell him off for being an idiot, Kamekona chipped in. “Dat's a story 'bout a shepherd who lost his sheep and when he gets home he tells his master that thieves took them. I forgets how it happens but the sheeps turn to stone in a valley. They're still stayin' there.” 

“Really?” Steve looked genuinely surprised at Kamekona's contribution. Danny wondered why he'd included the man if he thought he had nothing to bring to the discussion. He suspected that Kamekona was an awful lot more than just a cook and housekeeper, and that the elder McGarrett had relied on him for much of his information.

“I like the storytellers,” the big man replied, looking a little defensive.

“Do you know where the valley is?” Steve asked, ignoring the other man's discomfort.

Kamekona looked at the map for a few moments before sitting back and shaking his head. “No, but I know a man who will.” 

“Can you find him tonight?” Steve asked, clapping his left palm over his balled up right fist. 

“Whoa there!” Danny interrupted, hoping he could derail the plan Steve was obviously formulating in that messed up head of his. “Are you planning on marching into the desert tonight? Are you crazy?”

“I was planning on driving,” Steve said placidly, as though he'd just suggested another round of drinks.

“Oh, you were, were you?” Danny questioned, standing from his chair at the table and crossing his arms. “And what will the rest of us be doing while you're chasing shadows in the sand? I suppose we'll be doing the real police work and following the leads that don't require us to take stupid risks. I'll ask Ambassador Jameson to sugarcoat it in the telegram he'll send your sister, shall I? We'll tell her you died on your own, mad with heat and thirst, chasing some fairytale about sheep. I'm sure she'll like that, two telegrams in the space of a month.”

“It's not a stupid risk,” Steve argued, his expression closing down and a frown wrinkling his brow. “It's the next logical step.”

“Why have you got aneurysm face?” Danny asked, gesturing at the taller man's face which then screwed up in disbelief. “You can't have a team of people working with you, people who care about you, and expect us to all just agree with your mad schemes without voicing our objections.”

“For, not with,” Steve stated, his face hardening into an expression Danny couldn't read. “You work for me, not with me. I'm in charge of this team and I get to say what we do.”

“Oh, I see,” Danny said, suddenly unaccountably angry with the man who had barged into his life and taken him away from a job he hated but was at least his own on merit. This man who made him want to care about him, made Danny get involved in the case like he rarely did anymore, was suddenly turning out to be a complete ass. Well, he thought, that's what you get for caring. He should have learned his lesson when Rachel tore his heart out.

“Danny,” Steve said, taking a step forward, the concern on his face showing he probably realized he's said the wrong thing. 

“No, Commander,” Danny interrupted whatever he was going to say, because he really didn't want to hear it. “I'm not getting paid overtime here and I think I need my sleep. If you don't like that, you can find yourself another liaison to the police department. If you want to go and kill yourself chasing a stupid nothing lead, that's fine. I have a daughter, who I've barely seen this week I might add, and I intend to be there to watch her grow up. If you're still here, I'll see you in the morning. Chin, Kono, Kamekona, good night.”

Danny turned on his heel, grabbed his jacket and hat from the stand in the lobby, and walked out of the front door. He fumed as he marched to his car in the stable yard. He flung his jacket in the passenger seat and slammed the driver's door behind him. He started the engine and had barely flicked on the headlamps before he was speeding out down the carriage drive and into the road. 

He had meant what he said about getting another liaison to the department, but as he got further away from the house a growing part of him really hoped Steve wouldn't take him up on it. He wanted to see this case through and find Victor Hesse. Not just because it was the right thing to do and would obviously eliminate a threat to the whole country, but because he wanted to help Steve get the man who'd killed his father. He wanted to see if Steve would find some peace, loosen up and smile more. 

As he sped through central Cairo, barely seeing the camels and carriages he automatically swerved around, he was forced to acknowledge that some of his anger was directed at himself. He'd started to believe that he and Steve were friends and had unconsciously started forming a real attachment to the man. He thumped the steering wheel in frustration. Damn it, he'd done this before a few times and it never ended well. 

He pulled the car into the yard he rented near Mrs. Hudson's house and took a few calming breaths. He was going to go back to McGarrett's house in the morning and work the case. He was going to carry on as though he hadn't made a complete fool of himself storming out like a prima donna, and hope that the others could, too. He also hoped that Steve would be there and wouldn't go off on some fool's errand into the desert without him, because he couldn't bear the thought of him out there on his own. 

  


“Well, that was smart,” Kono said, as Danny walked out. Steve was staring after him as though the man had just walked off with his puppy. She expected him to run after the Danny, but instead he seemed to shake himself and retreat behind the cold mask he wore when he was preparing for a mission. Curious.

“Kamekona, can you find your source?” Steve asked, as though Danny hadn't said a word about how stupid this plan was.

“Sure,” the big man agreed, getting up from his seat. He didn't say anything else, but Kono could see the look he shared with her cousin. That spoke volumes about what he thought of Steve right now.

“You know,” Chin said, his tone light, but Kono could hear the annoyance hidden there. “You really are a complete ass sometimes.”

“What?” Steve snapped, a look of betrayal flashing across his face. “Are you going to leave, too?”

“When Black Jack Pershing made you re-plan the Maimbung mission, what did you say?” Chin asked, and Kono sat forward in her seat. This was something from before her time with the two men and neither of them was prone to sharing their experiences.

“It's not the same,” Steve objected, crossing his arms mulishly. “He was a senior officer.”

“What did you say?” Chin repeated, his tone steely.

Steve sighed and his shoulders slumped in defeat. “I said I was glad someone worked through all my bullshit and made me think about what I was doing.” 

“And what do you think Danny was trying to do?” Chin asked, not backing down.

Steve sighed again, and Kono thought he looked suddenly a lot younger, like a lost kid. She often wondered what Steve, who she loved like a brother, would have been like if he'd grown up in a bigger family. If he hadn't lost his mother, if his dad hadn't sent him away. He did so well disguising this part of himself that didn't function quite like it should. She was glad he'd had Chin all these years to help him, but she thought maybe Danny was going to be the one who could fix him. If Steve let him. 

“He was pointing out that my plan wasn't very well thought out,” Steve admitted, looking so sad Kono wanted to hug him. “He just goes about it in all the wrong ways.”

“That he does,” Chin said with a chuckle, standing up and clapping his hand on Steve's shoulder. “So what are you going to do to make it better? And I think you might need to work on an apology.”

“I need to ask Russell if he's got any intelligence about the Senussi,” Steve said, making Kono smile as his posture went from defeat back to focused determination in the matter of seconds. “And I should ask Ramses what he knows, too.”

“I've heard that Russell likes to take a drink in the Turf club,” Chin said with a little smile. “Ramses might also be there, although his reputation as a coward tends to keep his evenings free.”

“He's no more a coward than I am,” Steve said emphatically, and Kono had to agree.

Ramses Emerson seemed to her frighteningly brave, especially after Steve had told them stories about him and let them know he'd given Steve all kinds of information that only someone working for the intelligence services could have. He was playing what must be an excruciatingly difficult role, letting all of society think he was avoiding the duty many of their sons had undertaken, all the while working in the shadows to keep them safe. She liked to think she could do the same if she needed to, but she wasn't sure. Especially if she didn't have the support of her family. Not the family back in Hawaii that seemed to think she needed to find a husband, but the one here that consisted of Steve, Chin and now Danny. 

  


Grace was running towards him across the desert, she was all smiles as though she hadn't seen him for an eternity. Behind her, Rachel was standing at the entrance to one Mamo's tents, wearing the robes of a Bedouin woman, but without a face veil. When he looked back at Grace, he realized she, too, was dressed like the one of the girls he'd seen at the camp. 

“Daddy,” she shouted and threw her arms around his neck. “I missed you so much. We ate a camel.”

“Huh?” he managed in return, because that was confusing. And sickening. Camels weren't for eating. He wasn't sure what they should be for, hideous creatures, but eating was definitely not it.

“It was chewy,” she said, looking at him with those big brown eyes that he couldn't resist. “Are we going home?”

“Not yet, Monkey,” he said, hating that they had to stay in the desert. “It's not safe yet.”

“Will that be when the war's over?” she asked, but she was Rachel and they were in their old house in New Jersey.

“I don't know when that'll be,” he replied, which wasn't the answer to that question. “I need to keep you safe.”

“Of course you do, Danno.” She was Grace again and they were standing under the baking desert sun. “You need to go.”

“I do?” He didn't want to leave her, he'd only just arrived and he missed her so much.

“There's someone here for you,” she said, pointing over his shoulder.

“Remember, Danno loves you,” he said, squeezing her in a hug.

“Who's Danno?” Steve asked and Danny rolled over to answer him, but he wasn't in the desert, he was in his bed in Cairo.

He blinked into the darkness, disorientated and confused. He sifted though his memories trying to work out what was real. Had he been in the desert? He'd taken Grace and Rachel to Mamo's because they'd be safe there while the war raged around them. Had he done that or just dreamed it? 

“Who's Danno?” Steve asked again from the darkness at the end of his bed.

“Jesus, Christ!” Danny yelled, his heart hammering in his chest. “What, in the name of all that's holy, are you doing here?”

“We need to go,” Steve said, stepping closer to the bed. “Before it gets light.”

“Are you actually insane?” Danny felt obliged to ask, although he suspected no one who really was admitted to it.

“Danny,” Steve said, well, he sounded a lot like he was whining. “Come on.”

Danny blinked at the man, the little he could see of him anyway. How could this be his life? In less than a week he'd gone from being a responsible father and diligent police officer to being woken in the middle of the night by madmen. “I thought I made it clear last night that this is not a good plan.” 

“I know,” Steve agreed, stepping further forward, eager to make his point. “It wasn't, but I worked really hard to make it better. We all did.”

“You made Chin and Kono help you?” Danny asked, horrified at the thought of the two of them being forced to work through the night to fix what was his screw-up. His and Steve's.

“Chin shouted at me,” Steve admitted, sitting down on the side of the bed and looking for all the world like a sulking kid. “He told me I was being an ass and I needed to apologize to you.”

“I always knew the man was smart,” Danny quipped, before falling silent expecting Steve to fill the silence. “Well?”

“Well, what?”

“Are you going to apologize?” Danny asked, shuffling up the bed and sitting back against the headboard.

“Danny,” Steve complained, giving him what he probably thought was an imploring look. “I made a better plan. I did all the research.”

Danny looked up at the ceiling and sighed. He knew he should make Steve go through all this research he'd allegedly done. He suspected Chin and Kono's night had been very busy, and probably Kamekona's. He should make Steve talk him through the plan before he even got in the car, but it was pointless. He was going to go with Steve regardless because he didn't trust him on his own and Danny had to have his back. And the man was trying to apologize in his own completely inept way. It was sweet really. 

God, Danny thought, he was so gone. “Alright. Let me get dressed.” 

Steve grinned at him, his face lighting up like Grace's whenever she saw him. Danny felt as though something in his chest had bloomed open at the same instant something else twisted up. Steve was beautiful when he smiled. More beautiful, he corrected himself. Danny had been attracted to men before, even acted on it once, but Steve was something special. 

Danny’s pulse quickened at the thought of making Steve smile, amongst other things, for reasons that had nothing to do with agreeing to go dashing about the desert. He could happily drag Steve into bed with him, spread him out on the rumpled sheets and lick him all over. It would be so easy to do. Well, up until the point Steve worked out what Danny’s intentions were and punched him in the mouth. 

Taking a breath and holding it for a few moments, he pushed the thoughts of what he wanted to do to his partner away. He conjured up unpleasant memories of his ex-mother in law and willed certain over eager parts of his anatomy to behave. Feeling giddy and nauseous, as unsteady on his feet as a new born colt, he swung his legs over the edge of the bed. Words, always his first defense, came spilling out to cover his nerves. 

“Did Mrs. Hudson let you in?” he asked, turning towards Steve to see him shake his head. “How did you get it then? No, you know what? Don't tell me, because I'll only have to yell at you. I hope she's not in her room convinced there's a stranger here to murder her in her bed. She keeps telling me it'll happen one day, but frankly I think she's more likely to be offed by one of the lodgers she stings for extra rent.”

“You should come and live at my place,” Steve suggested, sounding hopelessly earnest in the dark. “I've got room and I wouldn't make your life difficult like she does.”

No, you'd make it difficult in totally different ways, Danny thought. “Let's just get this first piece of insanity dealt with before we start worrying about my living arrangements.” 

  


Steve pulled the car over to the side of the well worn track they were on and turned off the engine. He wanted to get out into the desert as fast as he could, hence taking Danny's car again, but there was something he needed to do first. 

“What's wrong?” Danny asked, sitting up from where he'd been dozing in the passenger seat.

“Nothing, I just wanted to show you something,” Steve said, waiting for Danny to spot what it was he wanted to share.

Danny blinked owlishly at him in the near dark before glancing over Steve's shoulder and taking in the spectacular view. In the east, the sun was just peeking its bright edge over the horizon, coloring the sky pink. Silhouetted against that delicate canvas, the three pyramids on the Giza plateau rose up, emerging out of the shadows as the light grew. Cairo with all its bustle and noise was waking in the distance and to the north, the lights of the Mena House hotel twinkled at the edge of the plateau. This was why people came to Egypt. 

“Wow,” Danny finally murmured, turning to look at Steve. “That's something else.”

“My dad and me used to come out here,” Steve said in return, feeling the urge to tell Danny all the things he'd never really told a soul before. “It was horses back then, of course, and we'd come out slowly when it was still dark. And then, once it was light enough, we'd ride back, letting the horses have their heads and just run.”

“My dad taught me to play baseball,” Danny offered, probably guessing Steve didn't share much about his childhood. “But then we didn't have this on our doorstep.”

They sat in silence for a few more minutes. Steve had that same feeling he'd had as a kid, the first time he'd seen this sight with his dad next to him, explaining how the pyramids' ancient builders had worshiped the sun. He'd felt small, microscopic against the vastness of time that stretched out behind him to people who'd no doubt stood in the same spot and marveled at the things they'd built. He wished he'd seen the pyramids as they were built, covered in smooth, gleaming white limestone, tipped with a golden cap that reflected the sun's light. 

“You should bring Grace out here one day,” Steve suggested, feeling suddenly overwhelmed by the eons that separated him from the pyramids. He needed to connect to the now, back to what they were doing and why. Danny's daughter, whom he hadn't yet met, anchored his partner in the now and Steve was starting to feel the same pull, the same need to make sure she was safe.

“I might just do that,” Danny agreed, stretching in his seat. “We should get on. I'll drive for a while so you can rest.”

Steve wanted to argue, but he was tired and he was trying to take more time to listen to Danny. Chin had been right the previous evening, and he wasn't going to ignore Danny, or the others, again if he could avoid it. Besides, it made more sense to let Danny drive this part of the journey, at least now it was mostly light, when the trackways were more used and easier to follow. Steve would be testing even his knowledge of the desert later on when they had to leave the track to Bahariya. 

“Okay,” Steve agreed, getting out of the car and walking around the passenger side.

Danny gaped at him for a few seconds. “Who are you and what have you done with Steve McGarrett?” 

“Ha ha,” Steve said, opening the car door.

Danny scrambled out, shaking his head and muttering to himself as he made his way to the driver's seat. Steve settled in and watched the other man adjust the driving position and get everything to his liking before he started the engine. Steve felt his eyes drift closed surprisingly quickly. He usually found it hard to trust other people to drive, or to simply be around him when he slept, but somehow this noisy, opinionated man had gotten past all his defenses. He supposed he should be worried, but he couldn't find the energy to care as he slipped into sleep. 

  


Danny shifted, trying to get comfortable, but the sand was surprisingly hard. He'd been sitting in the car for much of the day, except for a few planned stops to stretch their legs and unplanned stops when they'd gotten bogged down in the sand. He was thankful Steve, and he guessed Kamekona, knew what to pack for a drive in the desert. He would have packed the spades, but wouldn't have thought to put in the old rugs. 

He shifted again, wishing they could have fitted a mattress or two in, and maybe a tent. But with the provisions, bedding rolls, extra fuel and spare tires there was barely room for them. At least Steve had a fire going and a pot of coffee brewing. 

The man himself was seemingly as happy as a pig in mud. He was tending the fire, squatting down just like Danny had seen the Egyptians do, poking the embers with a stick. Even the idea of matching the position made Danny's knees scream in protest. 

Danny looked out over the desert that stretched out in front of him. The sun was setting behind him, behind the hill that the wadi was carved into. As far as he could tell, the whole area was called the Black Mountain, but it seemed to his non-expert eyes to be more than one mountain. Actually, it was like a lot of mountains had kind of run together in the heat, set into one solid mass. It didn't really matter, because they'd managed to find the valley Kamekona's friend had directed them to at the first attempt, something that seemed to surprise even Steve. 

They hadn't stayed long in that wadi, with its fifteen supposedly sheep shaped rocks, instead they laid the groundwork for their cover story of being archeologists out surveying the area. They'd photographed and sketched the valley, taking sightings to make a quasi-accurate map of the area. Danny had worked under Steve direction because he hadn't the first clue about how to play the role. They'd moved on to the next wadi, repeating the exercise and then to the one they were in. He just had to hope that if anyone was watching, which they probably were, they'd bought the lie that he and Steve were selling. 

Steve had explained the extra research he'd done, and the fail safes he'd put in place if something went wrong, and Danny had to admit the man had really tried. He'd gone and found Russell in the Turf club and explained what they'd discovered, asking the man to tell him what the British already knew about the Senussi. He hadn't managed to find Ramses but had left a note for him when he called at his home, at what was no doubt an appallingly late hour, and had surprisingly gotten a reply in the early hours of the morning. Danny didn't know who delivered messages at that time of night, but he was thankful the Emersons clearly had people they could trust. 

The information, along with some more cross referencing by Chin and Kono, yielded a pretty clear picture of discontent and rebellion in the Senussi tribe being stirred up and exploited by the Germans. Without arms though, this tribe out in the Libyan desert wasn't much of a threat. However, if they got their hands on some decent weaponry they could cause problems for the British and Egyptian armies facing an impending threat from the Turks in the Sinai. 

Taking an educated guess from what little Russell had told Steve, and reading Ramses' succinct but detailed note had made Danny realize just how precarious their position was in Cairo. The British were at war in Europe and that war was spreading to the Middle East, threatening to spill across the Suez Canal and engulf Egypt. It was stupid, but he'd not really felt worried before, and now he regretted not trying to convince Rachel to leave with Grace. 

“Steve?”

“Hmmm?”

“Do you think they'll get across the Canal?

“I don't know,” Steve replied, his expression making it plain he hated the answer he'd just given. “I think there's a few folks doing everything they can to stop that happening, but from what Ramses and his father say, there's a lot of the top bureaucracy who aren't that competent.”

“I should have tried harder to get Rachel to leave before,” Danny admitted, feeling terrible that he hadn't understood just how bad the situation was. “I don't want them going now. The shipping's too dangerous. They have submarines, Steven. Submarines.”

“We'll be okay,” Steve insisted, looking right at Danny as though he needed him to really believe what he was saying. “Look, if the worst happens and they cross the Suez, we'll run. All of us. You, me, Kono and Chin, Kamekona. We'll get Grace and Rachel, Stan too, if he'll come, and we'll stay ahead of them. Mamo will take us in, or we can go south, head away from the trouble. I'll help you keep them safe.”

Danny nodded, his voice choked behind the lump in his throat. He knew, even though America wasn't part of the war, that Steve would probably want to stay and help defend Cairo. And here he was offering to slink off with Danny and his family and disappear quietly into the desert. “Thanks.” 

“I know how important Grace is to you.” Steve smiled at him, a small, almost shy smile before his expression clouded.

Steve hadn't said much about his childhood or about being sent away once his mother died, but Danny could make an educated guess that it wasn't as happy as it could have been. He knew virtually nothing about Steve's mom, but his dad had been a man dedicated to his job, seemingly at the expense of his family. Danny couldn't imagine not knowing his dad was proud of him, that he was happy if Danny was happy, or that he actually wanted him around. 

There had been times over the past few days when Steve had seemed to still be trying to make his dad notice him. Danny kind of wanted to get a time machine and go back and punch the late Jack McGarrett in the mouth. How could he have had a boy as smart and as brave as Steve and not been desperate to prolong every second he could have with him? Danny wanted to slow time to appreciate every precious moment he had with Grace. 

“I was thinking I could bring her to your house,” Danny said, surprising himself, because he'd meant to say something else entirely. “Maybe you and Kono could teach her to swim.”

“I'd like to meet her,” Steve said cautiously, pleased excitement warring with doubt on his face. “But I haven't got much experience with children.”

“I'll be there, too,” Danny said, managing to hide his amusement that an eight year old was the thing that made Steve pause for thought. “And I bet Kono and Chin are pretty good with kids. Sounds like they come from a big family.”

“Yeah,” Steve said, slipping off into another memory. “We moved here when I was eight, but I still remember Hawaii. Chin's dad worked for my dad for years, and Chin was always around. I think I missed him most when we left. I think dad getting Chin transferred to my unit was his way of trying to make it up to me.”

“Probably,” Danny agreed. He chewed on his bottom lip for a few seconds, trying to work out if he should say what he wanted to. Damn it, Steve needed to hear it, even if Danny wasn't sure if it was true. “I think your dad really wanted to mend bridges with you, but he just didn't know how. I know he was proud of you, you can ask anyone who spoke to him for more than ten minutes, because he always managed to tell people how you were doing. You and Mary.”

Steve didn't speak for a while, just stared out into the desert. Danny sat quietly beside him, watching the shadows grow and fuse until night had fallen completely. The moon would be up soon, nearly full, and give them more than enough light to see by. 

“Thanks, Danny,” Steve said quietly, his eyes still on the desert.

Danny didn't reply. He was kind of glad Steve was thinking about his dad, taking the time to process what he'd learned in the past few days and fitting it together with what he thought he knew about the man. It was probably the first time he'd paused since he got back to Egypt. Everything Steve seemed to do was at a frenetic pace, focused and efficient, and Danny begrudgingly admired it. Sometimes. The rest of the time he kind of wanted to smack the man. 

He was sitting still now though, sharing Danny's bed roll and pressed against his side. That was a good thing on many levels. Steve needed it, he needed the comfort of another human being, and he needed to actually work through some of the things he kept bottled up. Almost as important as all that, Danny thought, was that the temperature had plummeted once the sun set and it was freezing. 

Yep, he still hated the desert. 

  


Steve crashed into wakefulness, a hand over his mouth and another shaking his shoulder. In the millisecond it took for all his muscles to contract to fight off his attacker, he remembered where he was and heard Danny's frantic whisper in his ear. 

“There's someone out there. Be quiet.”

He forced himself to relax, counted his heartbeats for a minute before he carefully sat up, trying to make as little noise as possible. He threw back his blanket, cursing silently at the cold, and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. He felt sluggish and disconcerted, still barely awake. He mentally kicked himself again, this time at his own stupidity of letting Danny have the first watch. He should have been the one awake and prepared for this. 

“Stop grinding your teeth,” Danny whispered, his breath warm on the side of Steve's face. “You needed to sleep and I'm trained for this sort of thing, too.”

Steve didn't argue with him, even though he knew no police training could match what he'd had. Danny was right in one respect though, he had to trust his partner to handle the situation they found themselves in. 

“Where are they?” Steve asked instead, quietly chambering a round in his pistol.

“Not sure,” Danny whispered, his own gun already drawn. “Heard a vehicle, but it stopped a ways off just before I woke you.”

Steve was impressed Danny had waited to wake him, instead using the quiet to listen to what the vehicle was doing. “Sound carries in the desert, but the wadis play tricks on you. They might not be that far away.” 

He'd been convinced since they'd arrived at the Black Mountain that they were being watched, hence the ruse of being archeologists, and he couldn't be sure they weren't still under observation. He had no idea if their act had fooled the silent observer and the approach of a vehicle didn't really offer any clues. The Senussi agent was unlikely to have been able to get a message to his contact fast enough to stop the rendezvous, even if he'd seen through their scheme. 

Knowing they might still be being watched, he finalized the plan that had been brewing in the car on the way here. Danny wasn't going to like it; in fact he was more than likely going to shout at Steve. Or at least whisper and glare. 

“I'm going to walk out to the mouth of the wadi,” he explained quietly, forestalling Danny's argument with a raised finger. “We need to still play the part of archeologists, in case they're watching. Once I've done that, I'm going to tell you it must be the wind or animals, then go back to sleep.”

Danny eyed him like he was mad. “And?” 

“And then I'm going to scoot my bedding into the shadow of that boulder. You should curse at me or something. Tell me I'm stupid, I'm sure you'll like that. Then I'm going to sneak out in the shadows and investigate the fifteen sheep.”

“Are you crazy?” Danny blazed, his voice a frantic whisper. “You'll get yourself killed and then I'll be stuck out here.”

“See,” Steve said, with his most annoying grin. “You're really getting into the part.”

Before Danny could object any further, Steve stood and strolled along the wadi as though he was completely at ease. He was nearly at the end of the valley, almost at the open desert when he heard a click. He wasn't sure he even consciously processed it was the sound of a gun cocking before he was diving for cover behind a large boulder. 

The shot crashed into the rock just above his head, showering him with splinters of black, glass-like rock. His ears were ringing and he had only the barest idea of where the shot had come from. Another shot rang out, coming, he thought, from Danny's direction, which probably meant his partner had had time to find some cover. 

He peeked over the boulder and caught a glimpse of movement in the rocks on the other side of the entrance to the wadi. Damn it. Their attacker had either walked past across the entrance of the wadi, something he thought was impossible given the amount of moonlight, or he'd not come from the wadi of the sheep. Did that mean someone had purposely come to kill them? 

He needed to get back to Danny, not just to try to formulate a plan together, but because the cover was about a million times better up at the far end of the valley. The moonlight, which he'd thought of as an advantage so they didn't need flashlights, was now his worst enemy. He might have been able to fool a distant observer and sneak along in the shadows, but an enemy no more than two hundred feet away would be sure to see him. 

Another shot slammed into the cliff behind the boulder and he knew he had to move. If he was fast, kept low, used the shadows as much as he could, and didn't run in a completely straight line, he could probably make it. He just hoped Danny would be quick enough laying down covering fire once he saw him running. 

He took two deep breaths, in and out, in and out, and ran. 

  


Danny popped up from behind the boulder to take another shot just as their assailant fired at Steve's position. The sound cracked around the wadi, almost deafening in the otherwise silent desert. Danny fired off his own shot, knowing his chances of hitting the man were slim. The bullet struck the rocks and Danny was about to drop back down when he saw movement. 

Jesus Christ, Steve was running from behind his boulder. What was he thinking? He really did think he was indestructible, some kind of super man who could deflect bullets. Danny fired off a shot, and another, hoping to keep their enemy behind his shelter long enough for his crazy partner to get back to wherever he thought he was going. 

He kept firing and Steve kept running. He was crouched low, dodging in and out of the shadows, disappearing for breathless seconds only to appear again, getting closer and closer to Danny. The covering fire seemed to be working. Their assailant hadn't fired a single shot and Danny was just beginning to think that Steve might get all the way back without the man actually seeing Steve move when Danny's gun clicked empty. 

He cursed, dropped behind the rock and ejected the magazine and quickly loaded the spare. He popped up again, without any thought other than to protect Steve, and fired off a shot. He saw a flash from the muzzle of the other man's gun and felt something tear across his upper arm before he even heard the sound of the shot. He yelped, but returned fire, even though he couldn't see Steve. 

The man himself clattered into Danny, landing heavily behind the boulder. Danny dropped back down, his left hand finally coming up to cover the wound on his right bicep. Jesus, that stung. He should yell at Steve, but this wasn’t the time or the place. If they ever got out of there, he was really going to let the other man have a piece of his mind. 

“You okay?” Steve asked, his breathing harsh. He was checking his gun, his back pressed against the boulder.

“Just a graze,” Danny said dismissively, even though he knew he should be tying something around it. “You?”

“I'm fine,” Steve assured him, eyes flicking over Danny and his face hardening just a little when he spotted his wound. Danny couldn't see any injuries on his partner and had to believe him even though he was pretty sure the man would try run off the loss of a limb.

A shot pinged off the rock and made them both flinch. Danny hated this. There was no chance of backup ever arriving, something he'd known in his head before he'd gotten in the car with Steve, but actually being pinned down behind a rock made it really real. He could have been home in his bed, his nice warm, mostly comfortable bed. 

“Danno,” he said, suddenly remembering the question Steve had asked him hours ago. “When Grace was first learning to speak, it was all she could say when she tried to say my name.”

Steve stared at him like he was crazy for a few moments before he blinked and then grinned. “That's sweet.” 

“Tell her, if you get out of this, that her Danno loves her,” Danny asked, knowing Steve would fight tooth and claw to get back to Cairo.

“No, Danny,” Steve said, looking like Danny had asked the other man to shoot him. “No, you're going to get out of this. We both are.”

“Right,” Danny agreed, not believing it at all. “But you'll tell her?”

“We're both getting out of here,” Steve repeated with such fierce determination that Danny almost believed him.

Steve pushed himself up to peer over the top of the boulder without taking a shot. Danny wondered how much ammunition the man at the other end of the wadi had. He also wondered if he was on his own, or the vanguard of a larger group. He turned to ask Steve what he thought when another shot rang out and he felt a sharp blow to the back of his head just before the world went black. 

  


Danny awoke with sand in his mouth and pressure on his face, forcing his eyes closed. It was stuffy, like he'd been breathing the same air for a long time. His head pounded and his mouth was dry. He lay still, trying to piece together what had happened and where he was. 

He remembered the desert. He remembered shooting, Steve being an idiot, and then it was all blank. 

He listened. He couldn't hear a thing. Nothing. The minutes stretched on until he thought he might go mad with just the sound of his breathing to keep him company. 

As he listened, he took stock of his body, tensing and releasing the muscles, feeling for injuries. A sharp pain in his right arm and the pounding in his head were the only obvious injuries he could identify. He shifted his legs and felt the same pressure on them as he felt on his face. He moved his arms, finding them pinned close to his sides by the narrow space he was in and the weight on top of him. 

Jesus Christ, he'd been buried alive. He sat up, half expecting to meet the lid of a coffin, but instead felt the sand that covered his head and chest slip off. He realized he was under a blanket, the sand on top of that, as it fell away from his face. He blinked in the bright sunshine, his eyes dry and scratchy. God, he needed a drink. 

His eyes adjusted eventually and he found himself in the little wadi they'd camped in, in the shade of the boulder they been sheltering behind the night before. He pushed the blanket and it's covering of sand off his legs and found two canteens of water and his gun by his feet. 

Relief flooded through him. Whoever had buried him, and he had to assume it was Steve, had known he wasn't dead. He felt the panic that was threatening to strangle him even after he'd realized he wasn't inside a coffin leave. He wasn't in a great place, he knew that, stranded out in the desert on his own, but at least he hadn't been left altogether. 

He pushed himself up, managing to stand on wobbly legs with the support of the boulder and looked round the wadi. The car was gone, a fact that made the panic flare again. He walked towards where it had been and saw footprints, a lot of them, and the most obvious ones weren't Steve's. 

So, Steve had either left some other way, which was not beyond the realms of possibility, or he'd been incapacitated and put in the car. Obviously Danny was hoping for the former, although the idea that some stranger was driving his beloved car made him want to kill things. Slowly. 

It also took away Danny's only chance of saving himself. He might not have been entirely confident he could navigate his way back to Cairo in the car, not in the vastness of this desert, but he had no chance on foot. He knew, and not just because Steve had drummed it into him, that to set off walking in the desert without a lot of experience and a compass, both of which he lacked, was suicide. The heat and dehydration killed fast, especially when it was so easy to become disorientated in the unfamiliar landscape. 

He walked unsteadily over to the rocks where the person firing at them had been hidden and found evidence of the scuffle. The sand was disturbed, great sweeps of it as though people had rolled about in it, and there was a pool of blood, partially hidden under a pile of sand. He hoped it wasn't Steve's. 

He kicked about in the sand some more, but found nothing else. He walked slowly back to the larger boulder, looking for any other clues as to what had happened in the desert floor, but there were none. He flopped down into the dwindling shadow of the huge rock, on top of the sandy blanket, and reached for one of the canteens. 

He gulped down the lukewarm, slightly metallic water and thought it was the best drink he'd ever had. He took another swig before screwing on the cap of the bottle. As much as he wanted to drink more, maybe even wash the grit off his face, he knew he had to be careful with the precious water Steve had left him. If the man had some plan to save him, the least he could do was to be alive when he got back. 

  


The day passed in a haze of pain and discomfort. The sun burned in the clear blue sky, none of the clouds from yesterday in sight. Danny moved from spot to spot in the wadi as the changing position of the sun reduced the shadows to nothing. Eventually, he wedged himself into a cramped hole at the far end of the valley where part of the cliff wall seemed to fold over on itself. It was shaded, but with very little space around him and no breeze it was soon unbearably hot. 

Danny drank only sparingly, even though he was fairly sure the pounding in his head was in part down to dehydration. He'd found some beef jerky and a couple of apples that Steve had left him and rationed those, chewing on a couple pieces of meat and an apple about three hours after he'd woken. 

He thought about Grace, praying that he'd get to see her again, hoping that even if he didn't Cairo would be safe. He knew Steve had left word of where they were with Russell and with the ambassador, but his biggest hope of rescue lay, after Steve himself, with Chin and Kono. Those guys would wait for another day before finding a car and driving the two hundred miles to find him. He just had to survive that long. 

He dozed, on and off, wondering every time he woke if he was supposed to sleep with a head injury. There wasn't much he could do about it, without someone to watch over him, and he figured he needed the sleep. It had been a busy few days and he suspected when someone came for him, it was going to carry on being just as crazy. 

He dreamed once of Victor Hesse, a faceless man chasing him and Steve across an endless desert, before cornering them in a Cairo street that appeared from nowhere. Danny awoke with a shout as a dream bullet hit Steve in the chest, his heart pounding. He cursed Hesse, whomever he was, for killing Steve's father and for leading them on this wild goose chase into the desert. 

Each time he woke, he checked his pocket watch, drank a few sips of water and stood up to make sure he didn't seize up in the confines of the little cave. And he tried to ignore the tenderness and heat in the wound on his arm that got worse with every hour. An infection was the last thing he needed, but he wasn't surprised by it. Steve had cleaned and dressed the wounds on his arm and on the back of his head, but the fine sand got in everything. 

He was standing outside the little cave, in the narrow shadow of the cliffs, when he spotted movement in the distance. The shimmering heat haze generated by the sun had been playing tricks on him all day so he ignored it at first, although he stepped back a little to make sure he was hidden from view. He squinted at the shape, the moving blur out there in the desert, and decided it might actually be real. 

It didn't look like a car, but he couldn't be certain, and it seemed to be moving too fast for a person. He pulled his gun out of the holster on his hip and took a deep breath. He wasn't sure what he was going to do if it wasn't Steve. He couldn't stay hidden forever, not if whoever it was decided to search the wadi, but he wasn't going to reveal himself until he had to. 

The thing, whatever it was, kept coming, heading straight for the wadi. Danny couldn't look away even though his eyes stung with sand and the glare of the sun. The figure got nearer and nearer, resolving from a blur into a person riding a brown horse. The rider had a white keffiyeh wrapped around his head and a black abaya flapping in the breeze as he pushed the horse forward. 

The pair finally thundered into the wadi and the rider pulled on the reigns, bringing the animal to a rearing halt in front of the boulder Danny had woken up behind that morning. The rider jumped off, dismounting with careless grace, and rushed forward towards Danny's hiding place. Danny raised his gun, ready to shoot the mysterious rider. 

“Danny?” the rider shouted, rushing towards the boulder. “Danny?”

“Steve?” Danny said, stepping out of his hidey-hole.

“Danny,” Steve croaked, striding over and, before Danny really knew what was happening, enveloping him in a bone crushing hug. “God, I thought... Jesus.”

“Hey,” Danny managed, his arms coming up to hold on to Steve. It was stupid, he was only one man on a horse, but Danny felt as though the cavalry had arrived and nothing could endanger him now.

Steve shuddered, clinging even tighter and burying his face in Danny's neck. Danny didn't quite know what to make of this from the man he thought kept all his emotions, the more complicated ones at least, in a box under his bed. He patted Steve's back and murmured the same comforting noises he did when Grace was upset. 

“Leaving you was the hardest thing I've ever done,” Steve blurted out, his breath warm against Danny's skin. “You have to understand, I couldn't do anything else. I needed to get help and you were out cold. I had to. I'm sorry. I'm sorry.”

“Shhh,” Danny interrupted, because Steve seemed to have gotten caught in some endless loop of regret. “It's okay. You did the right thing. I'm safe.”

“I know, it's just,” Steve said, stopping and dragging in a huge breath. He let go of Danny and stepped back, obviously trying to get himself back under control. He scrubbed his hand over his face, pushing away the keffiyeh.

“It's just, what?” Danny asked when it became apparent Steve wasn't going to finish his sentence.

“It's nothing.” Steve was looking around the wadi, refusing to look Danny in the eye. “They took the car?”

“Forget the car,” Danny said, stepping up to Steve and grabbing his arm. “We'll come back to that. First, I want to know what's got you so discombobulated.”

“Discombobulated?” Steve asked quietly, finally meeting Danny's eyes and if Danny wasn't mistaken, leaning into his touch.

“Yeah,” Danny said softly, not rising to the bait and arguing with Steve.

Steve didn't speak for a few moments, just looked down at Danny as though he was drinking in his face like it was the last time he'd see it. “I thought I'd killed you.” 

As Steve spoke, Danny could see all the emotion he'd been trying to hide suddenly right there. Everything he'd felt himself was mirrored on Steve's face, although it was slowly being replaced by regret and sadness as the seconds ticked by without Danny saying anything in return. He couldn't believe he'd ever thought this man, this stupid, beautiful man, was an unfeeling automaton. 

He couldn't stand it a moment longer. He snaked his hand around the back of Steve's neck and pulled him down, mashing their lips together. He thought he'd made a terrible error for a few moments before Steve unfroze and surged into the kiss like his life depended on it. 

Steve groaned into his mouth, his arms wrapping around Danny and pulling him tight against the hard planes of his body. Steve's tongue slid against his, fighting for dominance. Danny wasn't about to cede control just yet, not when he'd taken the first step, and he slid his hand up Steve's chest, brushing his thumb over Steve's nipple through his shirt. 

“Christ, Danny,” Steve breathed, breaking the kiss and arching into the touch.

Danny grinned into the warm skin of Steve's neck, nipping and sucking kisses in a line up towards the other man's ear, nosing aside the keffiyeh. He tasted salt and sweat, rough sand, and the underlying tang of Steve. He could become addicted to this, especially if Steve pressed his thigh any tighter against his dick. 

Steve shifted, his hand coming up to the back of Danny's head to steer him into another kiss, but the pressure on his head wound made Danny yelp and pull away. 

“Jesus, Danny, I'm sorry,” Steve said, clutching Danny's arm and guiding him backwards.

“It's fine,” Danny reassured him, even though he felt kind of nauseous suddenly. “I just need to get in the shade again.”

Danny led Steve back to his little cave, the horse they'd both kind of forgotten about following after them. He felt guilty for ignoring the poor animal's needs over his own. “He needs watering.” 

“She,” Steve corrected, helping Danny sit down in the shade. “All the best Bedouin horses are female. I'll take care of her now, and then I'm going to check you out.”

“I'm okay,” Danny said again, not wanting to be fussed over. “Really. Just a bit of a headache.”

“The fact that you're not whining about it tells me it's not fine.”

Danny would have argued with him, except he was right. Both about not feeling that great and about when it was he complained. His old partner back in Jersey always said if Danny was quiet he knew to call the doctor. “Maybe.” 

Steve didn't reply, just pulled a leather bowl and a water skin out of his saddle bag. He unfolded the bowl and put it on the floor before emptying the entire skin into it. He patted the horse's neck as she drank greedily. From the back, with his headdress and abaya on, Steve looked every bit like a Bedouin and Danny suddenly wondered where he'd gotten them from. Maybe he wasn't feeling too good if he hadn't thought of that before. 

“So what happened to you?” Danny asked as Steve turned around, a small bundle in his hand.

“I need to look at that wound,” Steve said, kneeling down next to Danny and trying to push his head forward.

“Get off, you big oaf,” Danny ordered, swatting his hands away.

“I need to...” Steve started, his expression closing off and his body tensing.

“Stop it,” Danny snapped, his hand cupping the side of Steve's face and softening the reprimand. “Whatever it is you're thinking, whatever doomsday scenario you're planning, stop it. I'm okay, you did the right thing. You can check on my head and my arm, I won't stop you, but I'd like to know what happened after I blacked out. I'd also like that kiss to be the first of many, but if you don't want that, if you regret it, I'll live with that.”

“We shouldn't,” Steve murmured, trying to look determined but failing miserably. “It's illegal. If we get caught, we could lose everything.”

“I know, babe,” Danny replied, smoothing his thumb over Steve's cheek. “We'll just have to be careful. Really careful. Keep it private, only in the house. Your house. Unless Chin and Kono have a problem.”

“They don't,” Steve assured him quickly, before obviously realizing how it might sound. “Not that I make a habit of bringing men to the house. I'm not sure about Kamekona though.”

“Chin can probably find out,” Danny suggested, remembering the explanation for not worrying about Kono and Steve being together. Looking back he was pretty sure Chin was subtly letting Danny know Steve was interested. Sneaky bastard.

“You've got more to lose than me,” Steve said, looking guilty and stupidly sad. “I know your daughter comes first...”

“Stop that night now,” Danny interrupted, his free hand coming up to point in Steve face. “Yes, Grace is the most important thing in my life. Yes, I've made huge sacrifices to be with her. Yes, I would do it again if I have to. No, I won't screw you over for her. She's my life, Steve, but she's not my whole world.”

“Okay,” Steve sighed, drawing in a huge, shuddering breath. Danny thought that he was going to get crushed into a hug again, but Steve seemed to get himself together and settled, smiling at Danny with another, “Okay.”

“Okay,” Danny echoed with his own smile, sliding his hand down from Steve's face to grip his shoulder, giving him a small shake. “Now, how about you get on with cleaning this wound and telling me how you ended up dressed like some desert prince.”

“A prince?” Steve asked, his eyebrow raised and a smug little smile on his face.

“Don't even try to tell me you don't know how good you look on that horse,” Danny said, grimacing as he leaned forward so Steve could take a look at the wound on the back of his head.

Steve didn't reply, but Danny knew he was smirking. As long as he didn’t tell Steve his favorite magazine story featured a hero who disguised himself as a sheik and had improbable adventures in the desert, he figured he could probably survive this relationship, whatever it turned out to be, with his dignity intact. But any more desert hijinks and he wouldn't be held responsible for his actions. 

  


Danny's head had at least stopped bleeding since the last time Steve had seen it, for which he was stupidly grateful. He didn’t like how angry and red the edges looked, however, and knew that he'd be calling in a doctor when they got back to Cairo, regardless of what Danny said. 

He opened up the roll of cloth that Hamid had given him before he'd mounted the horse, and pulled out the small bottle of alcohol. He wasn't sure where his friend had gotten it, but he was glad of it. He poured a little on the folded cloth he found in the little first aid kit and gently pushed his partner's hair away from the wound. “This is going to sting, I think.” 

“'s okay,” Danny said, his voice a little muffled by leaning forward. “But you could take my mind off it by telling me what happened.”

“Do you remember anything about last night?” Steve asked, making himself not flinch at the memory of Danny crumpling next to him.

“Yeah,” Danny agreed, starting to nod and then realizing that was a stupid thing to do. “Yeah. I remember the guy with the gun at the end of the wadi, you being crazy man and running back to me.”

“Right,” Steve said, dabbing at the cut on his partner's head and wincing a little at Danny's hiss of pain. “Sorry. One of his shots hit the rock behind us and a big splinter of it hit you, that's what knocked you out.”

“I did wonder how he'd gotten a shot over the top of the boulder.”

“When you went down, I thought you were, well, I think I...I needed to get to him,” Steve managed to say, trying to not let Danny know just how lost and frightened he'd been. Once he'd checked Danny had a pulse and was still alive, albeit bleeding, he'd known he had to kill the sniper for either of them to have a chance of getting away.

“You did something crazy, didn't you?” Danny asked, managing to sound both resigned and impressed at the same time. Maybe this explanation wasn't going to be so bad.

“Not crazy, just necessary,” Steve replied, flicking at a tiny sliver of stone he'd not seen in his quick assessment of the wound in the dark of the night. Danny didn't reply, just huffed out a breath, catching it again as Steve worked the stone free.

“Sorry,” Steve said, dabbing at the newly bleeding wound. “I used the shadows again, like I planned to originally, and managed to get over to where he was hidden.”

“I bet he was surprised,” Danny laughed, making something inside Steve loosen and relax for the first time in what felt like years. If he was laughing, he was going to be okay. That’s what Steve was going to keep telling himself, even though he was cursing not having thread and needle to close the wound properly.

“Yeah,” Steve agreed absently, putting a piece of gauze and folded cloth dressing over the wound. “He was better with a rifle than at close quarters.”

“He's dead then?”

“Definitely.” Steve wrapped a bandage over the dressing and around Danny's head. He was worried by Danny’s questions and wanted to get his wounds dealt with quickly. If he didn’t know the man was dead then maybe he wasn’t as alert as he appeared. “I left his body where it fell.”

“It's not there now,” Danny stated flatly, reaching up to feel the bandage as though he needed to test Steve’s handiwork. “I checked the whole wadi when I woke up.”

“They must have taken it with them.” Steve didn’t sigh with relief but felt his stomach unclench knowing Danny had remembered to do a basic check of his surroundings before he spent the day as a potential sitting duck.

“They?”

“Don't really know who they were,” Steve explained, starting to unwrap the dressing on Danny's arm. “Once I'd killed the sniper, I was going to put you in the car and get us back to Cairo, but before I could do it I heard vehicles coming. There was no way I could have gotten out of the wadi and away without them being right on top of us. I couldn't take the chance they'd just pick us off.”

“It's okay, babe,” Danny reassured him, his fingers circling around Steve's wrist and squeezing.

The previous night had been horrific for Steve, in ways he never thought possible given all that he'd done and seen over his years of service. He always tried to never leave a man behind, no matter who it was, but sometimes he'd had to. Leaving Danny, having to make that choice when he knew he wasn't leaving behind a body but a living person who could come to harm, had been the hardest thing he'd ever done. And he'd had to make the choice without talking it through with anyone. 

“I knew I had to leave you,” Steve admitted, his voice barely more than a whisper. “I dug out a hole in the sand, where the big boulder would cause a shadow for most of the morning, and laid you in it. I got supplies from the car and covered you and them in the blanket then topped it with sand. I guess it worked, because they didn't find you.”

“They didn't even come over and look,” Danny said, continuing when Steve looked surprised. “No foot prints. All the foot prints were over on the other side of the wadi, near the cliff.”

“They were chasing me,” Steve explained, mentally bracing himself for being yelled at in return. “I needed to lead them away, so I made a trail over to the cliff once, walked backwards in the prints and then ran again to make it look like both of us were going that way.”

“That way?” If Danny was willing to rant at him, he was obviously feeling a lot better. “You make it sound like there's a path. It's a sheer cliff face, Steve.”

“It's not sheer,” Steve objected, even though he kind of knew what Danny meant. “I've climbed harder ascents.”

“In the dark?”

“That was a bit of a challenge,” Steve admitted, if only to placate Danny and finish the story. “I'd just gotten to the top when they drove into the wadi. I made sure they saw me.”

“Crazy,” Danny complained to the world at large, shaking his head despite his injury and rolling his eyes. “They could have shot you.”

“I didn't give them chance,” Steve said, with a quick smile, because he was starting to feel pretty pleased with how well his plan had worked. “I set off running straight away, over the plateau and towards the oasis. I don't know if they tried to follow me up the cliffs, but I never saw another person up there.”

“Because they knew where you were heading, I suppose,” Danny speculated, and Steve could see him trying to remember the map they'd poured over of the region.

“Exactly,” Steve said, pulling his hand free of Danny's and sketching a quick map in the sand. “The mountains extend southwest of here, almost to the edge of the oasis, but I had to come down from them somewhere. They took a guess that I was heading for the oasis, and drove around the mountains to cut me off.”

“You saw them?”

“Not until I'd already made it to the first building of the village,” Steve explained, trying not to bask too much in the awe on Danny's face. “You know what it's like to drive on this bit of desert; it's faster to run.”

“Babe, that's got to be about four miles.”

“Closer to five,” Steve corrected, to get the facts right.

“With a cliff face to scale on the way down,” Danny pointed out, shaking his head in disbelief again. 

“It was more of a slide,” Steve admitted, a little sheepishly. “I found a shale skree and just slid down.”

“I'm disappointed,” Danny said with a grin, and Steve just had to smile in return. “And then what?”

“I hid in a barn,” Steve said, which he knew made the little shed he'd found sound way grander than it was. “And I waited for them to leave. They drove around, obviously looking for me, trying to find my tracks I think, but I'd tried to run on every piece of rock I could to not leave any. They got closer and closer to the village and the men started to come out to see that was happening. I think they thought it was a raid.”

“A raid?”

“The Bedouin do attack each other occasionally, steal the goats and horses,” Steve explained, feeling a little awkward because he didn't want Danny to think less of his friends. “It's not common. They actually need to have good relationships with their neighbors, but sometimes it happens. They don't steal women, no matter what you read in the newspapers.”

“It's okay,” Danny said, reading Steve's mind again which he knew should scare him but only gave him comfort. “I don't think they're barbarians. We supposedly civilized folks are butchering each other in France and Belgium right now, so what do we have to boast about.”

Steve smiled at Danny. He knew he probably looked like a fool, but he didn't care. Danny and he were so dissimilar, at least on first viewing, but they shared so much in what they believed, how they treated people, that Steve couldn't believe he'd been so lucky to find him. He was even luckier that Danny seemed to feel the same way about him. 

“Go on, you big goof,” Danny teased, grinning at him, his eyes crinkling in a way that made Steve's heart quicken, and nudging his shoulder. He winced and Steve realized they'd both forgotten they had been treating the wound on Danny's arm.

“Okay,” Steve said, picking up a clean cloth and pouring more alcohol on it. “But you need to take your shirt off so I can get to your arm.”

“I bet you say that to all the boys,” Danny said sarcastically, already unbuttoning his shirt and collar.

“I normally stick to 'hello sailor'; gets them every time,” Steve quipped, helping Danny get his injured arm out of the sleeve.

“I'll bet,” Danny leered, giving him a look that was so filled with heat Steve felt himself blush in response. “God, you're gorgeous.”

“Do you want to hear the rest of the story?” Steve asked, ducking his head and fumbling with the cloth. If Danny kept this up, he might just die of embarrassment. If he didn't just throw caution to the wind and push Danny back into the sand to do the things he'd so desperately wanted to try.

“Oh, do go on,” Danny replied, waving his other hand in a magnanimous gesture for Steve to continue.

“Okay,” Steve said, pulling the old dressing off of Danny's arm and frowning at the angry wound he found there. “Once the men came out in the village, all of them with rifles, the cars drove off. I didn't see yours with them, but then they could have gone back and gotten it or someone else could have been driving it away in the other direction.”

“It's okay,” Danny said, obviously trying to sound like it didn't matter, but Steve could tell he was almost mourning for the car.

“We can try to find it once Hamid shows up,” Steve reassured him, turning Danny's arm to get a better look at the wound and not liking what he saw.

“Who's Hamid?”

“He's a relation of Mamo's,” Steve explained, dabbing at the wound with the alcohol soaked cloth and trying to not hurt Danny any more than he had to. There was definitely an infection and the alcohol alone wasn't going to get rid of it. Maybe Hamid's wife would make the a poultice to draw out the infection when they got to the village. “He's some kind of cousin to Mamo's third wife, Isra.”

“Right,” Danny agreed skeptically.

“It's all about family,” Steve explained, knowing that it seemed strange to Western ears. “You can't really do business with each other, whatever it is, until you work out how you're related, even if it's so far distant that you're still really strangers. It's just how it works. Being Mamo's adopted son makes me a relation.”

“You're his son?”

“Kind of,” Steve hedged, trying to work out how to explain it. “I'm not formally, obviously, but Mamo and Alima told people they were adopting me as a favor to an old friend. Most people knew the truth, but this way it made my life easier. And it meant Alima could treat me like her own son and remove her veil.”

“Huh,” Danny replied, clearly thinking over what he'd been told and fitting it into his picture of Steve. He was pretty sure that the information wouldn't have a negative effect on Danny. He'd never told anyone, not even Kono and Chin, that he was part of a Bedouin tribe; it wasn't something you boasted about in what people laughably called polite society.

“Anyway, Hamid lives in the village,” Steve continued with the story. “Once the cars had gone, I came out of the barn and asked for help. It was dangerous, I know, but I speak Arabic and I could use Mamo's name as a calling card.”

“I'm glad you did,” Danny said, flexing his arm under the bandage Steve had wrapped around it. “I thought you might have stolen the horse and the clothes. Knowing what you're like about following the rules.”

“Horses are too well guarded to steal,” Steve told him, helping Danny get his arm back in the sleeve of his shirt. “They're often kept inside the tents in the desert and here they're in people's houses. I didn't fancy trying to get you on a camel. Although most camels argue as much as you do, so maybe you'd get along.”

“Ha ha,” Danny said sarcastically, and punched Steve in the arm. “So are we sharing that horse back to Cairo?”

“Hamid's coming with some of his kin and a horse for you,” Steve explained, checking his watch and realizing it was later than he'd thought. “We'll go back to the village for the night and set off for Cairo tomorrow. It'll take a lot longer to get back without the car. A couple of days, more than likely.”

“Damn it,” Danny cursed. “It's my afternoon with Grace the day after tomorrow. I'll miss it and I can't even let her know.”

“I'm sorry,” Steve murmured, suddenly feeling guilty all over again. He'd dragged Danny out here, gotten them stranded in the desert and now he was going to disappoint the light of Danny's life by not getting him back in time. And they still didn't really have any firm evidence about Victor Hesse and his supposed arms smuggling. There was something going on, for sure, but Steve knew he couldn't identify any of the people chasing him.

“Hey!" Danny grabbed Steve's chin in his hand and made him look up. “Not your fault. I knew what I was doing. I don't want you feeling guilty every time something happens. It'll kill you. And me.”

“Okay,” Steve agreed, not sure he was going to be able to keep his word in reality. He was about to say as much when he heard the sound of hoof beats. He caught Danny's eye, drawing his gun and watching Danny do the same.

“Probably your friend, right?” Danny said, sitting himself up straighter and getting ready to stand.

“Probably,” Steve agreed, standing up carefully behind the little outcrop of rock and offering Danny his hand. “But better safe than sorry.”

Steve leaned out and peered around the rock. Danny was a warm, reassuring presence behind his back, which made facing this set of newcomers to the wadi a whole hell of a lot less scary than the night before. The horses trotted into the wadi and Steve's own mount whinnied in greeting. Steve was pretty sure from that it was Hamid and his friends. Then the lead rider unwound his keffiyeh and Steve could see it was indeed his new friend. 

Steve stepped out from behind the rock and greeted them. “As-Salāmu `alaykumā.” 

“Wa `alaykumā s-salām,” Hamid replied, smiling at Steve before continuing on in Arabic. “All is well?”

“Aiwa,” Steve said, motioning Danny out from behind the rock. “My friend is well. A little worse for wear, but alive. I cannot thank you enough, Hamid. You are a brother to me.”

“And you to me, Steven,” Hamid replied with a wide grin. Steve wasn't certain how he felt about inheriting a whole new set of family, but it had enabled him to find Danny, so he'd manage.

“What's going on?” Danny asked, obviously frustrated that the conversation was in Arabic.

“I told him we're okay and thanked him,” Steve explained, leaving out that he'd obligated himself to the tribe, although Danny would probably guess that rescue and horses to Cairo didn't come for free.

“Tell him thank you from me, too,” Danny replied, standing up a little straighter. “If there's anything he ever needs in Cairo, he's to ask for me.”

Steve grinned at his friend. Trust Danny to get just what he needed to say, even if he didn't have the language to do it. He turned to Hamid and spoke Danny's words for him in Arabic. 

“You friend is a generous man,” Hamid replied with a little bow of his head, obviously impressed that there were two westerners behaving like he and his family were human beings, regardless of the fact they had dark skin and lived in the desert. “Perhaps he is a distant relation, too? Through my wife's large family.”

Hamid's eyes were twinkling as he joked about how things were normally done, but there was an underlying edge of seriousness, too. The nomad understood how valuable a western friend could be, especially one he already knew was in the Cairo Police and likely to have some influence should the tribe run up against the British bureaucracy. 

“Hamid thanks you, and wonders if you're in fact a distant relation through his wife's family,” Steve said to Danny, willing him to understand how much of an honor it was without Steve having to explain.

Danny smiled, a shy, pleased little smile, and Steve knew he'd understood. “Tell him I'm sure that one of his wife's distant cousins is married to a Welshman somewhere in New Jersey.” 

Steve again translated for Danny, making Hamid and the other men with him laugh. At least everyone was getting along, even with the language barrier. One of the first things he needed to do when this case was solved was to improve Danny's Arabic. He might not be the best teacher, not with the relationship they seemed to be embarking on, but Chin could probably do it. There was no way Danny could be a full part of his life and not be able to join in with parts of it. 

“Come, we must leave for the village,” Hamid said, indicating the spare horse he'd brought for Danny. “My wife will be cooking to impress and I don't want it to go to waste.”

Steve wasn't sure how much he was actually going to be able to eat. He had a knot the size of his fist in his stomach and a million unanswered questions buzzing through his mind. He'd put on a good show though, no doubt with Danny's help, and then make sure his partner got some sleep before they set off for the long trek back to Cairo. 

  


Danny still hated the desert, and he'd never been keen on riding horses, but he couldn't get over the little thrill of excitement he felt as he galloped across the open desert dressed pretty much like the hero in his favorite story. Okay, so he wasn't going to save hapless women from white slavers, something he wasn't really sure existed in the first place, but he was still dressed like a Bedouin, an abaya over his shirt and pants and a keffiyeh wrapped around his head. Unlike Steve, he'd even been given an agal, the rope band to hold the keffiyeh in place, because he was a married man. 

They'd been in the saddle, him, Steve and two of Hamid's relations, for five hours with only a short break for some lunch, and he ached everywhere. His head still hurt, as did his arm, but now he had pain in his legs, ass and back. He was going to be a cripple when he got to Cairo. And still the thrill of playing dress up, even if it was for very real reasons of disguising their movements, was making him grin like a fool every now and then. 

Even without Hamid's insistence that they should dress for the desert, he and Steve had already decided that they should try to keep their journey to Cairo as discrete as possible. They were in Bedouin clothes, but they both knew that a sudden journey to Cairo by people from the oasis would be likely to raise suspicion if they were spotted. They couldn't avoid it though, and had to trust to luck that they'd get there without incident. 

Danny wasn't too pleased about relying on luck, the way theirs had been playing out recently, and said as much to Steve. The other man's grim face and determinedly set chin told Danny that he felt just the same. They'd discussed why they'd been ambushed as they lay side by side on the thin mattresses Hamid had provided for them to sleep on. 

It wasn't a cheery conversation. They hadn't come to any definite conclusions, as they could have been spotted by some lookout as soon as they arrived, but the level of organization of the ambush suggested to both of them some kind of planning before their arrival. The fact that Hamid and his family had not seen any cars around the oasis also suggested that the vehicles had come from elsewhere, possibly Cairo. And that indicated they had a mole. 

They agreed it couldn't be Chin and Kono, and both hoped it wasn't Kamekona. Danny thought it might break Steve's heart if someone as close to his father as the big guy was could betray him. They'd gone through the list of who they'd told about the journey: Ambassador Jameson; Assistant Commissionaire Russell; Superintendent Smith, head of the Giza division; Captain Davidson at the Army fuel dump; Danny's landlady, but she'd gotten nothing about location, only that he'd be away. It was a short list of people they'd specifically told, but any number of people could have had access to the information after that, they supposed. They hadn't specifically asked to keep it quiet, although they both thought that Russell wasn't likely to tell too many people. 

They'd been nowhere near coming to a conclusion when Danny realized Steve had fallen asleep. He'd grinned to himself, curling on his side to watch his partner sleep. It was kind of creepy, he knew that, but he couldn't resist. He couldn't see much, not in the almost complete darkness of the little room in Hamid's house, but he could hear Steve's breaths, slow and steady, just the hint of a snore, and that was enough. He had fallen asleep himself not long after, his forehead pressed against Steve's shoulder. 

He'd woken that morning to find Steve watching him, the room only slightly lighter than it had been the night before. Steve had blushed when he realized Danny had seen him, almost rolling away before Danny caught him and pulled his mouth to his for a quick, closed mouth kiss. Neither of them had lingered in bed, hearing sounds of the household already awake and wanting to begin their journey to Cairo. 

One of the men shouted something, jarring Danny out of his reverie and crashing him back into the painful now. He looked where the man was pointing and far in the distance he could see a dust cloud that he guessed was someone or something coming towards them. He glanced around, but there was no cover for miles, just flat white desert littered with small rocks. 

“Keep riding, try to look uninterested but draw your gun” Steve ordered from his place next to Danny, before kicking his horse on and shouting what Danny assumed was the same in Arabic to their two companions.

They rode on, all eyes on the approaching dust cloud, which eventually resolved itself into a car as it came closer. Danny knew that in all probability they were going to be gunned down where they rode and tightened his grip on his gun. He was not going down without a fight. 

They were about two hundred yards from the car before Danny was able to see the make. It was a Chevrolet, just like his, and after only a moment's confusion he realized it was not just like his car, it was his car. He felt an irrational stab of betrayal that some bastard was going to use his car to attack them. 

“Danny,” Steve shouted, obviously having spotted that it was his car, too.

They closed in on the car and the vehicle slowed, slewing to a stop in front of them. Danny could make out two occupants, both dressed in European clothes, although with Arabic scarves wrapped rather inexpertly around their heads. The passenger stood up and waved at them to stop, shouting, “As-Salāmu `alaykumā.” 

“Wa `alaykumā s-salām,” Steve replied, in his perfect Arabic, not removing the keffiyeh from his face. Better whoever was in the car not know who they were.

The passenger shouted something in Arabic which Danny couldn't make out, but whatever it was, it had Steve pulling the keffiyeh from his face. 

“Steve?” the passenger shouted in disbelief, before unwinding his own scarf and revealing his face.

“Chin!” Danny shouted, sliding from his horse and hobbling, slightly bow-legged, over to greet his friend. And his car. Steve wasn't far behind him, although, bless him, he was clearly taking time to explain the situation to their companions. He'd never been so glad to see anyone as he was them, and he'd never been so thankful for comfortable seats in his car.

“Danny!” the driver said, the voice giving away that it was Kono. “Man, look at you.”

“Look at you,” Danny said in return. She was dressed in men's clothes, as usual, but had an indigo scarf wrapped around her head and face, with a pair of driving goggles covering her eyes. Strapped to her hip was a pistol and Danny was pretty sure he could see the top of a long knife in the side of her riding boot. She looked every bit the desert warrior and the murmurs coming from their two guides suggested she was making an impression with them.

She pulled up the goggles, looked right at the two men, and spoke to them in Arabic. After a moment's pause, one of them said something that made Chin and Steve laugh, and Kono scowl. When Danny looked questioningly at Steve, he translated. “He said, if that's your wife, no wonder you got lost in the desert.” 

“Tell him I'd think myself a lucky man and never leave the house, if Kono were my wife,” Danny replied, feeling a little sorry for his friend. Kono grinned at him, at least he thought she did. Her eyes crinkled in a smiley kind of way, most of her face still hidden by the scarf.

Steve frowned at him, but translated it anyway. Okay, so he was probably going to have to apologize to Steve to make him understand that it was just a joke. He didn't want Kono, and she certainly didn't want him. The guides were still laughing when Kono unwrapped her scarf to take a drink of water. Danny didn't doubt she was thirsty, but she was also smart enough to know her face would be enough to silence the men. 

“How did you guys find my car?” Danny asked, because really, that was the most important thing.

“I was going to ask you the same thing,” Chin said, raising an eyebrow at Danny. “Well, more or less the reverse of that, but you know what I mean.”

“Can we save the discussion until we're in the car?” Steve asked, and Danny couldn't really fault is logic.

Steve handed the reins of both his and Danny's horses off to their two guides, obviously thanking them and giving them messages for Hamid. Danny waited until he'd finished, before adding his own “Shukran,” to Steve's thank yous. 

The two men waved, turned their mounts and the two now riderless horses around and headed back to the oasis. Danny looked back at the car, not really surprised to find Steve shooing Kono out of the driver's seat. She climbed over the seat and squeezed herself into the back seat amongst the blankets, fuel cans, water bottles and what looked like enough food to feed an army. Danny felt suddenly guilty about sending their guides off without offering them some. 

“Will they be okay?” Danny asked Steve, forcing his aching bones into the front passenger seat after Chin also climbed into the rear compartment, ending up with a picnic basket on his knees. “Shouldn't we have offered them some tea or something?”

“I did,” Steve replied, starting the engine and swinging the car around. “They wanted to start back. If they're lucky, they'll get back before sunset.”

“It's five hours back,” Danny said, doing the math and wondering what time sunset was. 

“Less. They were taking it easy for us.”

“And by us, you mean me?” Danny asked, wishing he could cling onto his fantasy about being the hero of his own adventure for a while longer.

“No, us,” Steve replied, accelerating the car towards Cairo. “I'm out of practice riding like they do.”

“Right,” Danny agreed skeptically, not buying it for a second. “Anyway, tell us how you got the car.”

He turned around in his seat to speak to Chin and Kono, trusting Steve would keep his eyes on the desert and not steer them into danger. Chin and Kono looked at each, obviously having some kind of conversation that was beyond the range of human hearing. It was Chin who spoke. 

“It was complete coincidence. We were following a lead of Kamekona's and we just came across it.”

“A lead?” Danny asked before Steve could.

“Yeah,” Chin continued. “He's been asking around, subtly, in the coffee houses about Hesse. He finally heard a rumor that some top man, some crime boss, had an arrangement with El Gharbi.”

“El Gharbi?” Danny squawked, hoping he'd heard wrong. 

“Who's El Gharbi? Steve demanded, clearly frustrated that there was someone in Cairo that he didn't know.

“He runs pretty much the whole red blind district,” Danny explained, wondering how much detail he should give his partner. It wasn't that Steve was an innocent, far from it, but telling him what the lives of the women, and boys, who worked in the brothels were like would likely send him off on a mission to rescue them all.

“So Hesse is getting women from him?” Steve asked, letting Danny off the hook.

“Or boys,” Chin replied.

“Or girls,” Kono said, real heat in her voice. Okay, so maybe Steve wasn’t the one he needed to worry about. 

“So,” Danny prompted, nudging the conversation back into a relatively safe direction. “You followed a lead?”

“I paid the man a visit,” Chin said grimly, letting Danny know just how bad it was with his expression. “And I use the word 'man' in the loosest of terms.”

“Yeah, bit of a shock, isn't it?” Danny said with a chuckle.

“What do you mean?” Steve demanded, turning to look at Danny who silently pointed out of the front windscreen until he turned his eyes back to the road.

“Ishmael El Gharbi is, well, he's hard to describe without it sounding like you're exaggerating,” Danny explained. “He's a Nubian, not sure from where exactly, but I think quite far south as he's as dark as ebony. He's big, not tall, but flabby and soft, and he wears women's clothes.”

“Really?” Steve asked, sounding as disbelieving as Danny had known he would be. “And he's a crime boss?”

“When I say women's clothes, he's not wearing corsets and overly fussy hats. He wears colored robes, way too much jewelry and eye make-up, his nails are too long and he stinks of patchouli oil. He's always got some half naked kid waiting on him hand and foot, which makes me want to just kill him where he sits. But leaving aside how he dresses, he's one of the smartest people you'll ever meet, a brilliant business man and utterly ruthless with his rivals or people he perceives as a threat. He's also, perversely, one of the kinder brothel owners and, despite how much he sickens me, I'd rather he was running the place than some of the other people I've heard about.”

“Is it weird that I kind of want to meet the guy?” Steve asked, half seriously.

Before Danny could respond, Chin coughed and shifted uncomfortably in the back of the car. It could have been down to the dust in the air and the cramped position the man was in, but Danny didn't think so. Turning around, he looked at Steve's old friend and raised his eyebrow. 

“You may get to meet him,” Chin explained, looking a little sheepish. “The cover story I gave him when I went in there was that I worked for someone wanting to have a supply of girls.”

“Chin!” Steve exclaimed, trying to turn around and look at him, too.

Danny punched him in the arm and yelled. “Eyes front, sailor.” 

“I had to come up with some reason for being there and asking questions about how he delivered women to a house,” Chin reasoned, even though he looked guilty. “I didn't use your name, but he knew exactly who I was already.”

“Christ,” Steve sighed, gripping the steering wheel hard.

“It's not so bad,” Danny reassured him, a friendly hand on his shoulder. “They got my car back in the process.”

“Screw you, Danny,” he replied, but there was a smile tugging at his mouth and Danny grinned back unrepentantly.

“El Gharbi didn't give much away, as you'd expect,” Chin continued. “But he did explain that a discretely dressed woman, covered in a veil, could pass quite easily through the streets and not draw any attention. He even called some poor girl he was about to send out, she couldn't have been more than about fifteen, and had her put on her veil and cloak to show just how conservative she looked.”

“Poor kid,” Danny said, wishing he could go in and shut down all the establishments in the red blind district and free the people, virtual slaves, who worked there.

“I know,” Chin sighed, obviously agreeing with Danny. “Anyway, once I'd left him and gotten back in the car, we saw the woman coming out of a small alley behind the building and heading off down the street. Kono followed her, on the off chance she'd lead somewhere interesting, but I had to drive away because your dad's old Ford is almost as recognizable as this. I kept circling back, making sure Kono was safe, and seeing where they went.”

“You took Kono with you?” Danny gaped, knowing as soon as he said it he was going to get his ass kicked once they got back to the house. “I mean, how did it not look suspicious?”

“I was disguised as a man,” Kono said with a triumphant grin. “I had a jelabiya and turban on, and kept my head down.”

“And where did the woman go?” Steve asked, seemingly unconcerned that his friend was roaming the streets dressed as a man. Danny knew he should be pleased with the results, and clearly she'd been unharmed, but there was still a part of him that was old fashioned enough to feel aggrieved.

“That's the odd coincidence,” Chin said. “She went to a house in Old Cairo. Nothing special, but not the worst of places either. We wouldn't have thought anything of it, but your car was parked three blocks away in a dead end alley. Kamekona arranged for it to be 'stolen' by some of his rather dubious contacts, and for them to be seen doing it, and then they secretly brought back to the house. Of course, we knew you were in trouble and once we'd packed up the car, we set off right away.”

“That's not a coincidence,” Danny said, wondering what game the pimp was playing. “El Gharbi's too smart to send off a girl to just the house we need, or any house, when he knows who you are and who you work for. He knew you'd follow her, he probably knew Kono was outside, too, so that was his way of cooperating without actually giving a name.”

“You think he's cooperating?” Steve asked, his face serious.

“I do,” Danny replied, hoping his words wouldn't make whatever plan Steve was coming up with even more crazier.

“Then I think I need to go and visit him,” Steve said grimly, making Danny sigh. “Because we need to get inside that house.”

Yep, crazy, Danny thought. Oh well, it wasn't like he had any better ideas himself. As long as he got to spend some time with Grace before they did anything stupid he wasn't going to complain. Much. 

 


	3. Chapter 3

Steve tried not to fuss over Danny's injuries and whether he should really be getting them wet. They'd swung by Miss Forth's clinic on the way into Cairo that night to get checked out. He supposed that most of the people he knew, or at least knew him, would be horrified at the thought of subjecting themselves to a female doctor, let alone one who treated the native Egyptians, particularly the women who worked in the brothels. But she was a good doctor, that much he'd learned from Ramses, and that was all he'd needed to know. 

She'd examined Danny's injuries, making him blush and babble in the process, cleaned them again and then smeared some appalling green ointment on them. She swore it was the best thing, especially because she couldn't stitch them as they were already starting to heal up. When Danny complained about his hair being turned green, Nefret had just laughed and told him it was a small price to pay for not getting blood poisoning. 

Danny was still grumbling about his hair when they'd arrived at Steve's house, even though they'd stopped at his rooms on the way to collect some clothes. Both of them had been grateful to discover that the nosy Mrs. Hudson had been out. Danny had wanted to stay and get cleaned up, but Steve had persuaded him to use the better bathing facilities at his house. Besides, Steve had caught his eye as he mentioned the bath, and Danny had understood what he'd wanted. 

Chin and Kono, because they both seemed to be psychic, had just smiled at him and disappeared upstairs to use the bathrooms there, leaving Steve and Danny to head down to the basement and the stone bathing pool there. Steve padded down the stairs first, turning the faucet on to fill the huge round, stone bath with hot water. He turned back around to see Danny looking around the room as though he'd expected to see something else. 

“You've been down here before?” Steve asked, sure that Danny had been one of the ones to search the house after his dad died.

“Yeah,” Danny said, looking around warily again. “It's just... Are we really... Is that a bath?”

“Is that a problem?” Steve said, wondering why the man, the one who'd kissed him first, who'd seemed the more comfortable of the two of them, was suddenly so wary. “I can go upstairs.”

“No, no,” Danny replied hurriedly. “I just, we're being discrete, aren't we?”

“Chin and Kono don't care what we do, and Kamekona's at the market,” Steve reassured him, adjusting the temperature of the water and tipping some of the bath salts Kamekona had given him into the bath.

“Okay,” Danny said, still sounding unsure.

“Look, guys bathe together all the time in the hammams,” Steve explained, pulling his shirt off and flinging it on the floor near the stairs. “That's all we're going to do here.”

“Really?” Danny asked, his gaze sweeping over Steve's chest.

Steve felt himself blush. He had no problem being naked around guys, he'd done it since school, but he'd never had anyone look at him the way Danny did and it made things flutter in his stomach. And places lower down. God, the man was right; they were never going to just bathe together. Maybe it was a bad idea. He hadn't actually done this before, despite knowing for a long time he preferred men, and he was suddenly terrified. 

His thoughts must have shown on his face because Danny stepped up to him, rubbing his arm comfortingly. “Hey, we don't have to do anything. We can just get ourselves clean and get back to work.” 

“No,” Steve said quickly, both thankful and embarrassed that Danny was being so understanding about his sudden attack of nerves. “I want to, it's, I mean.”

“This is a new thing, isn't it?” Danny asked gently, still smoothing his hand up and down Steve's arm. “That's fine. I've only ever done this with my wife and one guy, once. Well, I never saw him naked and, you know, I'll stopping talking now.”

Steve grinned at him, suddenly a lot less nervous now he knew Danny wasn't that much more experienced than he was. “Slow's good.” 

Danny smiled at him, reaching up to unbutton his own shirt. Steve stared as golden skin was revealed, dusted with blond curls that he wanted to comb his fingers through. Danny winced slightly as he pulled the shirt off his injured arm and Steve couldn't help reaching up to help, to try to make him not hurt. 

“I'm fine, babe,” Danny said, smiling fondly at him. “I'm going to keep the bandages on and then we can redress them after. You can even slather on some more of that green muck Miss Forth gave us.”

“Okay,” Steve agreed, reaching for the button on Danny's pants with slightly shaky hands.

Danny didn't speak, just watched him as Steve's fingers fumbled a little before undoing the fly and pushing his pants down. Danny was wearing white undershorts that were crumpled and clinging after three days in the desert. Despite cleaning themselves as best they could each day, they were both getting a little ripe. 

The air was filling with the aroma of rosemary and pine, thanks to the bath salts Kamekona said were his dad's favorite. It smelt clean and fresh and Steve felt his mind clearing, the fog of too little sleep lifting. He stepped back from Danny, even though he wanted nothing more than to get his hands on the man and never let go, and started to quickly remove his own clothes. Danny rolled his eyes at him and finished the job Steve had started, skinning out of his pants. 

Steve tried to concentrate on stripping off, but he couldn’t help but watch as Danny pushed off his socks and their suspenders and pulled off his undershirt. God, he was beautiful. He might have been shorter than Steve, but Danny was powerfully built, his shoulders broad and his chest muscled. His torso was covered with hair, which tapered down to a line that pointed like an arrow into his shorts. 

“Come on, slow poke,” Danny teased, pushing down his shorts and stepping out of them.

Steve laughed, only it sounded strangled even to his ears, his eyes locked on Danny's groin. His dick was hard, jutting out of a thatch of dark blond curls and Steve wanted nothing more than to test what it felt like. But Danny was, with a sly smirk that said he knew what Steve was thinking, already sitting on the edge of the bath and swinging his legs over the side. 

“God, that feels good,” Danny groaned, sinking down into the warm water.

Steve stripped off the rest of his clothes as fast as he could, barely taking his eyes off Danny as the man relaxed against the side of the bath. He sat on the edge of the pool, thanking his mother for insisting that the hot water pipes had to run through the thick stone to warm it, and clambered into the water. It was heaven. The water was hot enough to be relaxing, but not so much that he had to wait for his body to adjust, and the scent of pine and rosemary wafting up to meet him was a relief after the dry dust of the desert. 

He ducked under the water, scrubbing his fingers through his hair to get the sand and grit off his scalp. He popped back to the surface and found Danny watching him, a fond smile on his face. 

“You really are a fish, aren't you?”

“You don't like the water?” Steve asked, not sure he liked being called a fish.

“I like it just fine,” Danny said with a dismissive wave of his hand. “But you? You relax in the water. Even asleep you didn't look this calm.”

“Maybe it's you who relaxes me,” Steve replied, sliding over to crowd into Danny's personal space. “Maybe we could relax each other.”

“Smooth, Steve,” Danny laughed, wrapping his hand around the back of Steve's neck and reeling him in. “Really smooth.”

Danny tasted of coffee and honey from the snack Kamekona had forced on them when they'd gotten back to the house. Steve chased the taste as their tongues slid together, his hands slipping around Danny's waist to pull him even closer. Danny groaned into the kiss and Steve knew any notion of taking it slow was going to be forgotten. The position was awkward, but he rolled his hips and felt the hard length of Danny's erection pressing against his stomach. God, it was already better than he'd ever imagined it could be and nothing had really happened yet. 

Steve broke away and panted into the damp skin of Danny's neck, mouthing kisses up to his ear. Danny's hand skimmed down his side before coming to rest on his hip, his thumb brushing back and forth over the crease where leg met abdomen. It felt so good, but Steve wanted more. He wanted to finally feel someone else's hand on him in the most intimate of places, he wanted it to be Danny who introduced him into this new world. “Please.” 

Danny pulled back to look him in the eye. His lips were red and swollen from their kisses and his face flushed, but his eyes were serious. “Are you sure? We don't have to.” 

“I'm not some blushing bride,” Steve argued, running his hand down Danny's stomach and clumsily gripping his cock.

“Whoa, easy there,” Danny said with a grimace that made Steve yank his hand back, embarrassed by his actions. “Hey. Stop it.”

Danny grabbed Steve's wrist, pulling his hand gently back down to wrap around his cock. It was smooth and solid, like touching his own, but Danny's was thicker. Danny's fingers joined with his, setting the pace as he moved his fist up and down. Danny's eyelids fluttered closed and he dropped his head back onto the side of the pool. He moaned and Steve thought he might come just from watching Danny. 

It was such a rush, knowing he was the one who was making Danny lose control, making him thrust his hips up and down as he searched for his release. All right, so Danny was still guiding his hand, making it good for himself, but Steve was learning what he liked, what he needed to do so next time he could make the other man come apart completely. 

“God, Steve,” Danny groaned, his stomach muscles trembling. “I'm gonna come.”

Steve kept up the rhythm Danny set, but squeezed a little tighter, knowing he liked that himself. Danny cried out, a wordless shout of release, his hips snapping up as his dick twitched in Steve's hand. Steve looked away from Danny's face, watching in fascination as Danny's come clouded the water as it jetted out before swirling away and dispersing. He felt an illicit thrill at the idea of being covered in Danny's release. 

“Jesus Christ, Steve,” Danny sighed, making Steve look back at his face. He looked wrecked but relaxed and so damn happy that something in Steve almost couldn't stand it. He wasn't used to being the focus of that much pleasure, of being smiled at like he was the most important person in the world, even if it was for just a few moments.

“We might need to take a shower after the bath,” Steve said, not sure what he was supposed to do with himself. He wanted to ask Danny if he should stroke himself to completion so Danny could relax, but he didn't know how to find the words.

“Come here, you giant goof,” Danny replied with a soft smile that made Steve's heart seem to skip a beat painfully in his chest. Steve went though, leaning in and letting Danny kiss his way into his mouth, making him moan with newly remembered need.

“Danny,” he breathed, into the other man's mouth, desperate to be touched again.

“Here,” Danny said, pulling away from the kiss and away from Steve and patting the side of the pool. “Sit up here.”

“I don't,” Steve started, not sure what was happening.

“Do you want to get off, too?” Danny asked, giving him a look that was probably supposed to be a glare but was too filled with happiness and affection to be anywhere near. “Or do you want me to draw you up a battle plan and do a risk assessment of the situation first?”

Steve didn't need to be told twice. He pulled himself up and sat on the low wall of the pool, Danny muscling between his legs before he'd barely settled his ass on the warm stone. His brain stuttered and stalled when Danny grinned up at him before opening his mouth and taking the tip of Steve's cock between his lips. 

Jesus Christ. It was warm and wet and just about the most perfect thing he'd ever experienced. One of Danny's hands wrapped around the base of his dick, covering the part not inside Danny's mouth, and the other came up to cup his balls. 

Steve groaned, his eyes closing even though he really wanted to watch. He'd never imagined anyone would do this for him, not without him paying. God. It was dirty and so good. His hips were trying to thrust up, but they were pinned down by Danny's elbows, and that was another thrill in itself. 

“Oh God, Danny,” he chanted, not really caring what came out of his mouth as long as Danny didn't stop. “Oh God. Oh God, please.”

Danny hummed, and the orgasm that had been building suddenly hit Steve like a tidal wave. Every muscle tensed and released, his skin flashed hot and cold and could have sworn all his hair stood on end. He shouted something, he had no idea what, and the world dimmed around him; the suction of Danny's mouth on his spurting cock the only thing that mattered. 

He shuddered and twitched as Danny mouthed his spent flesh, drawing out his orgasm until Steve thought he might actually die from it. His partner moved away just before Steve was about to push him off as he became too sensitive. “Come on, back in the water.” 

Steve wasn't sure he could make his arms and legs work enough to slide off the edge of the pool without drowning himself in the process, but Danny seemed to guess that and manhandled him down into the still warm water. Steve curled around the other man, pressing his face into the smooth skin of his neck, sinking back so that they rested against the side of the pool. 

He was still shaking, just a little bit, and he wanted to say thank you to Danny, tell him just how much that meant. He didn't know how, or if he was supposed to. Danny's arms were tight around him, holding on as though the other man knew somehow he might go to pieces without it. 

“You okay?” Danny asked, the words spoken against Steve's damp hair.

“Yeah,” Steve agreed, kissing Danny's neck. “That was... I never imagined.”

“Babe,” Danny said, squeezing him tighter. “I've got you.”

Maybe he didn't have to say thank you. Maybe Danny knew just how much it meant to him. He was glad, now, that he'd resisted all the times he'd thought about finding some willing partner in a back alley in one port or another. He had Danny, and Danny had him, and it was all he'd ever wanted. 

Steve felt himself starting to doze, the warm water and the glow from the release catching up with his exhaustion. He should get out of the bath, it was dangerous to be this sleepy in the water, but he couldn't seem to find the energy to move. Danny had him; Danny would make sure he was safe, just for the next few minutes. He'd have to get up soon, he needed to get his thoughts in order to brief the ambassador first thing in the morning, but right now he was going to relax and let someone else watch over him. 

  


Steve fought the urge to stand, ignoring the coffee cup that had been placed on the table in front of him. He wasn’t used to giving his reports to his superiors sitting down, and the fact that he had nothing to show for their time in the desert except for a few extra bumps and bruises didn't make him feel any better. Danny, who he had to admit had the majority of the injuries, slouched in Ambassador Jameson's easy chair and drank the offered coffee as though it was his right. 

“And so you didn't see your attackers?” Jameson asked, stroking his little mustache pensively.

“Not close enough to recognize them,” Steve admitted, wishing he had more to offer the man. “Although I'm pretty sure they were driving a Rolls-Royce Silver Ghost.”

“You never mentioned that,” Danny said, sitting up a little straighter.

Steve wondered what he was missing, it was just a car. “Didn't seem that important.” 

“Not important!” Danny exclaimed, waving his hands and making Steve want to take the coffee cup from him. “We can trace all the Silver Ghosts registered in Cairo.”

“Oh,” Steve replied, feeling stupid for not realizing the police had that ability. He had so much to learn about what was and wasn't possible in his new role.

“It seems you gentlemen still have some kinks to iron out of your working relationship,” the ambassador murmured, taking a sip of his coffee.

“Yes, sir,” Steve replied, sitting a little straighter and taking the words for the rebuke they were.

“Commander McGarrett, that wasn't a reprimand,” Jameson clarified, his face softening a little and a smile curling at his lips. “You've worked together for under a week, you've been back in the country for about the same amount of time, and you're doing a job you've never done before. I think it's all right to take your time to find your feet.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Really, McGarrett,” the man insisted, sounding a little exasperated. “You've done an excellent job so far. You've gotten much further than the police, no offense meant, Detective Williams.”

“None taken, sir,” Danny replied, looking like he actually meant what he said. “We'd pretty much hit a brick wall until Steve arrived.”

“And I gather your two friends are proving useful,” Jameson said, a smirk playing about his lips. “I had Russell in here telling me about Miss Kalakaua and her antics.”

“You did say I could run my operation as I saw fit,” Steve pointed out, hoping he wasn't going to have to fight to keep Kono as an official part of the team.

“Oh, I'm not complaining, Steven,” Jameson said, holding up his hands in protest. “Far from it. You have a great asset in her, something the police are too hidebound by tradition to realize. Well, I think Russell wishes he had a few like Miss Kalakaua, but he's a rather forward thinking man. And one who's been exposed too often to your friend Mrs. Emerson and her propensity to be just as involved in any trouble as her husband.”

“I didn't know you knew the Emersons,” Steve said, wondering more how the ambassador knew he knew the family.

“Everyone knows the Emersons,” the other man pointed out, putting his empty coffee cup down and getting out his cigarette case to offer them one. “Or wants to know them.”

“That's true,” Danny agreed, declining the offered tobacco. “Stan's been trying to get an invite to dinner with them for weeks. I can't wait to let it slip I ate with them the other night.”

“We should have them over to dinner one night,” Steve suggested, more than happy to help Danny get one up on Stan. “Maybe have Grace come, too.”

Danny grinned at Steve, happy with the way his mind worked, before obviously remembering where they were and that they couldn't let this new thing between then show. Steve looked away quickly and Danny coughed. Christ, they had to get better at hiding how they felt in public. 

“You are a devious man, Steven,” the ambassador said, smiling at them as if they hadn't just almost declared their relationship in front of him. “And you too, Daniel.”

“We try, sir,” Danny said, sounding as if he'd just been given the highest compliment ever.

“So, what's your next move?” Jameson asked, checking his pocket watch in a sign their interview was coming to an end.

He and Danny hadn't talked about the idea of someone they knew feeding the enemy information since their conversation at Hamid's house, which he realized now had been stupid. They couldn't very well have a discussion about what to tell the ambassador when he was sitting right there, so Steve had to make a snap judgment and hope Danny agreed. 

“We've gotten the address of a house we believe Hesse is using as his headquarters,” Steve explained, glancing at Danny and seeing no obvious objections to passing on the information.

“And what do you propose to do about it?” Jameson asked, sitting forward in his seat, obviously excited by the news.

“We're going to infiltrate the house,” Steve replied, being intentionally vague about the plan he had. Partly because he hadn't thought it all through yet, and partly because it involved Kono putting herself in danger and the cooperation of a notorious peddler of human beings. The less the ambassador knew about it, the better.

“And what do you hope to find?”

“If Hesse isn't there, we'll look for any leads on where he might be hiding and what his plans are. If nothing else, losing his safe houses might rattle him enough that he'll start making mistakes.”

“Will you inform Russell?” Jameson asked, looking at his watch again.

“Yes,” Steve replied, although he wasn't sure if he was going to yet. “We'll need to get some backup from the regular police.”

“Excellent,” Jameson agreed, standing up. “Now, I'm sorry, gentlemen, but I have a meeting with the French ambassador.”

“Thank you for your time, sir,” Steve said, standing and feeling suddenly much more relaxed. He was really going to have to work at reporting from a chair. “I'm sure I don't have to tell you this, but please keep this information to yourself. The fewer people who know, the less likely Hesse is to find out our plans.”

“Of course,” Jameson agreed easily, none of the annoyance at being reminded of something so basic Steve had feared he'd see on his new boss's face. Hopefully it wasn't just that he was a brilliant actor.

Danny nodded at the ambassador and preceded Steve out of the door, passing the empty secretary's desk, and out into the corridor before speaking in a whisper. “Are we really telling Russell?” 

“No,” Steve said, finally making his choice as he walked down the stairs to the entrance hall and its grand doorway. “I want to start excluding people who could be the mole. The sooner we can know who the trust, the better.”

“Okay,” Danny said with a little nod of his head at the marine who held the door open for them. “Although I'd like some backup when we go in.”

“Actually,” Steve said, thinking the journey back to his house was likely to be as good a place as any to explain his plan. “We're going to be the backup. Kono will be going in on her own.”

“What?” Danny exploded, stopping on the steps to the embassy. “You can't be serious?”

“Not here, Danny,” Steve hissed, grabbing his arm and hustling him down the steps and towards the car. “I'll explain in the car.”

“Oh, this I want to hear,” Danny said, anger rolling off him in waves. “Because there is no scenario you can give me where this is a good idea. You do not send people into danger, no matter who they are, without any way of calling for assistance.

Steve didn't have all the pieces in place yet, but he was ninety percent there. He was pretty sure that Danny was going to come around to his way of thinking once he saw the plan laid out, even if Steve still needed to work on some of the more minor details. He did already have the solution to Danny's concern about not being able to know if Kono was in trouble. And she was going to love it. 

  


Kono rounded the corner and felt her heart rate quicken. There it was, the house that probably belonged to Hesse. She ran over the plan again in her head, rehearsing all the scenarios just like she'd been doing since yesterday. She heard Steve's clear instructions in her mind, calming words in Chin's voice and affectionate ranting in Danny's. She knew why their new friend was worried, it was a dangerous plan, but even he'd had to admit it was the best they had. It didn't stop him grumbling about it though. He was probably still bending Steve's ear with his complaints even now. 

She couldn't see any of her team, which she told herself was a good thing because it meant they were in position as they were supposed to be. Steve had been following her for most of the way dressed as an Egyptian, but he'd peeled off somewhere around the last block and was no doubt already in the alley at the back of the target house. 

As she walked, she surreptitiously checked all the things she had hidden in her robes. The black abaya might be making her hot and frustrated, but it was certainly useful for disguising all kinds of interesting items. She thanked whatever gods might be listening that she had friends, a team, family like she did. They were the most inventive, wonderful, devious people. 

When he'd returned from the embassy the previous day, Steve had already run though the plan with Danny, who didn't agree with it, but gave up arguing due to frustration, and a need to see his daughter. Steve had explained it to both her and Chin once Danny stopped shouting. Chin wasn't that happy about it either, until Steve told them about the little extras he was going to bring to the party. Some of those extras were currently under robes and even though Danny had called them a walking death trap, she felt a whole lot safer with them. 

They'd spent until the early hours of the morning preparing for the operation, practicing the parts they could, and discussing those they couldn't. Steve had altered the robes, creating hidden pockets and all kinds of little surprises. He'd been sitting in the courtyard sewing the red jalabiya and veil Kono was wearing under her voluminous abaya when Danny had arrived with his daughter for dinner. Danny had apologized for turning up unannounced but Grace had been keen to meet his new friends and he'd wanted to indulge her. He'd given them all a look that said nothing was to be said about their plans for the raid in front of his little girl. 

Kono, who'd been pouring over the plans of the house, such as they were, got a ringside seat for the introductions between Steve and Grace. Danny's daughter was a fun kid, completely unafraid but not a spoiled brat like some of Kono's cousins in Hawaii had been. The little girl had ended up convincing Steve, who was more than a little shell-shocked by her, to make her a copy of Kono's jalabiya. Without the extras, Danny's stern look had said. 

Grace had stayed for an early dinner, happily moved forward by Kamekona, and then Danny had taken her back to her mother's before returning to help work on the raid. Danny had been quiet when he returned, and Kono really felt for the man. He was a good father who wanted to spend time with his child and yet he couldn't. It seemed unfair that her own father could have spent all the time with her in the world, but didn't want to, and Danny who did, couldn't. 

She pushed the thoughts from her head, turning into the narrow alley that provided access to the only door to Hesse's house. She took several calming breaths as she walked, running over the words she'd practiced in her head. She had a message from a friend, one only for William Pratt, and if he wasn't there she'd wait. 

She pulled the bell rope, hearing a distant tinkle somewhere in the house, and waited. She hoped there was someone in or all this work was going to be for nothing, although she suspected Steve might actually break in if it no one answered. She shifted from one foot to the other, feeling adrenaline rushing in her blood. She took a breath and counted to ten before letting it out. This was the biggest thing she'd ever done, and she was not going to screw it up by being too nervous. 

She was beginning to think they had made a mistake when she heard footsteps approaching the door and bolts being drawn back. She drew the abaya close around herself and stood up straight as the door swung open. The man who answered, a thick set Egyptian with a loosely wound turban and several days' stubble, looked at her curiously for a few moments, as though he couldn't work out what was going on. 

“It's not Tuesday,” he said eventually, which, if Steve hadn't had words with the pimp about when and to whom he delivered his girls, would have made little sense.

“I'm not one of El Gharbi's girls,” she said, hoping her Arabic was good enough to fool him. “I have another master and I have a message from him for William Pratt.”

“He's not here,” the man said, obviously trying desperately to work out what he was supposed to do. Kono suspected that he wasn't usually trusted with decisions much more complicated than if he should have sugar in his tea, or not.

“I'll wait,” Kono suggested, hoping this guy was the only one in the house, because it was going to make things so much easier. “You send a message to him and I'll wait for him here. He'll be very pleased to see me.”

She dipped her head a little and hoped that her heavily kohled eyes, the only part visible above her veil, would convince him she was what William Pratt would want. She also hoped that Steve and El Gharbi were right and Pratt and Hesse were the same person. 

After a few moments' hesitation, the man finally came to a decision and stepped aside, waving her into the house. “I'll send a message to him. He might not come though.” 

“Tell him my master has information he thinks Mr. Pratt will find very useful and that I am here to make his day more pleasurable.”

The man managed a lecherous smile before he had to concentrate on walking again. He led her to a room on the left of the entrance way, gesturing to go inside. “Wait here.” She nodded her head and turned into the room. 

The interior of the house, the entrance hall and the room she was now in didn't really match the exterior of the house. They were both Arabic in style, but there the resemblance ended. The outside was a little dilapidated, not enough to draw attention because it was so bad but just enough make sure people didn't even give the house a second look as they passed. 

Inside, it was clearly meant to impress. The room she'd been shown into had walls of blue and white tiles with swirling floral patterns and beautifully carved, dark wood paneling. The tiled floor was covered with the most amazing Persian carpets she'd ever seen, and the cushions for the divans looked as though they were hand embroidered. The dappled light in the room came through the carved wooden window screens, high in the walls, making sure the occupants inside couldn't be seen at all from the street outside. 

She looked around. For all it was a beautiful room, it was kind of sterile and gave nothing away about the owner of the house, other than he liked nice things. And it certainly didn't help her get the information they wanted. She needed to explore. 

Kono dropped the cumbersome abaya from her shoulders, discarding it on one of the divans. Red wasn't the ideal color to wear for sneaking around a house, but she valued her freedom of movement more. She pulled the red veil that matched the dress from the bag she carried across her chest, sighing as she clipped it to her headscarf. It was a lot heavier than it looked, thanks to Steve's modifications, but she knew she needed it. She resettled the strap of the bag across her chest and went to the doorway. 

She stuck her head out, looking down the entrance hall towards the central courtyard. There was no one around that she could see, so she walked quietly out of the room. She strode with confidence into the courtyard, knowing she needed to not look like she was sneaking around in case she met anyone. Her cover story, at least until she got up the stairs, was she was looking for a bathroom. El Gharbi had told Steve that none of his girls had even been off the ground floor. 

There was no one in the courtyard and Kono felt her spirits lift. Maybe this crazy plan was going to work. She hurried across to the foot of the stairs and after picking up the skirt of the jalabiya sprinted up them. She wondered if she was missing a trick not exploring downstairs, but all her instincts, and El Gharbi's, were telling her there was something to see in the upper rooms. 

She stood and listened, hearing nothing but the sound of her breathing and the distant noise from the street. There were six doors leading off the balcony that ran around the upper floor of the central courtyard, all of them similar. Kono decided, if she were a master criminal she'd probably put the things she didn't want people to find by accident furthest from the stairs, so she ran quietly to the door at the opposite side of the courtyard and listened again. She heard nothing, and so slowly turned the door handle. 

Inside, she found a sparsely furnished bedroom, nothing more than a low bed, a table and a wash stand. She huffed out a quiet laugh, so much for her instincts as a master criminal. She shut the door and moved on to the next room. Another bedroom, slightly more lived in if the pile of clothes on the chair were anything to go by, but still devoid of any obviously useful information. 

When she opened the door to the next room though, she knew she'd hit paydirt. It was obviously a study, a well used study, with papers and charts spread over every surface. Gods, she could search for days in the room and still not find the information they wanted. Except, everything here was probably useful. 

She moved quickly to the desk and began leafing through the papers. There was a map of the desert out where Steve and Danny had been ambushed, which wasn't surprising but convinced her there were things to be found. She wanted to take everything with her, give the team time to analyze it, but she knew she couldn't. Not without alerting Hesse that someone might know his plans. Which being found here would do, too. 

She scanned through the documents, finding nothing that immediately sprang out as something they could use or didn't already know. There were letters and papers from people all over the Middle East, but unless they were in code, which she knew was a possibility, they didn't contain anything useful. The desk drawers were filled with the usual things people collected. Pencils, erasers, ink, pens, thumb tacks, blotting paper. She let out a frustrated sigh and pushed the final drawer shut with a little more force than she should have. 

She couldn't believe she'd gotten into the house, found the center of the operation, and there was nothing to be found that was going to lead to them finding out who Victor Hesse was, or to stopping his plans. She looked around the room again, her eyes settling on the large armoire in the far corner. She hurried over to it and flung open the doors. 

Her heart skipped a little at what was inside. A radio receiver. Around it were notebooks and papers, stubs of pencils and scribbled doodles. She picked up a notebook and thumbed through it. Dates, times, and what looked like random words. Damn it. She found a blank piece of paper in the mess and a pencil began scribbling down the last few entries. She couldn't take the notebook with her, but she was damn well not going to leave empty-handed. 

She'd nearly filled the sheet with quick scribbles she hoped she could understand later, when a banging on the front door downstairs made her jump. She stuffed the paper into her bag, already moving to the door. She peered out, seeing no one; she stepped on to the balcony and hurried towards the stairs. 

She was nearing the bottom when the man who let her in came into the courtyard followed by a European man she'd never seen before and four Egyptians. She froze, wondering if she had time to run back upstairs, but it was too late - they'd already seen her. 

“Stop right there,” the Englishman shouted, gesturing to the men who followed him. Was this Hesse? Had he walked right into their trap?

Two of the men stepped forward and Kono took a reflexive step back, almost tripping on the stupid skirts of the jalabiya. The man nearest to her sneered, obviously more than happy to be menacing what he thought was a helpless woman. Well, he was going to be in for a bit of a shock if he got too close. 

“What were you thinking?” the Englishman yelled in Arabic at the man who'd let her in, clearly convinced she was already taken care of and he could turn his attention to berating his staff. “You know you're not supposed to let anyone in.”

“She said she had a message for Mr. Pratt,” the man said, cowering away from the Englishman.

The man who clearly wasn't Hesse, at least if Pratt and Hesse were the same person, swung out his arm and backhanded the man across the face. “You're a moron and I should kill you for it. But at least now we'll have one of McGarrett's team to use against him. You're lucky that our source warned us he was going to try something, it's just a shame we thought he was going to raid the other place.” 

The men were nearly at the bottom of the stairs and Kono needed to make a choice, let herself be captured and hope to find out more information or alert the team she needed an escape route. Being captured would make Steve pull his disappointed frown of death, and that would make Danny rant. She liked the new addition to their odd little family, glad that the loud mouthed man made Steve happier than she'd ever seen him, but she could do without the ranting when it was directed at her. Escaping it was, then. 

Kono pulled the drawstrings at the waist of the jalabiya and the skirt bunched up at the sides freeing her legs and making the nearest man pause. A flash of stocking and garters seemed to have the stunning power of one of Steve's flash grenades for most men. She almost felt sorry for the poor saps who were about to find out her legs weren't her only weapon. 

She leapt from the stairs, kicking the man in the chest and knocking him to the floor. She landed with a little stumble that she wasn't too proud of, but managed to connect a swift kick to his head before he'd even managed to move at all. She felt bone crunch under her foot and he lay still. 

“Bloody hell,” the Englishman cursed, and Kono flashed a grin at him, the one Chin said made her look like a shark.

Kono threw a punch at the other man who'd been approaching her, but he was faster than his companion and ducked out of the way. He came back up swinging and it was Kono's turn to dodge a blow. Out of the corner of her eye she could see the other men had gathered their wits and were all advancing on her. Two of them with guns drawn. Okay, time to employ some of the extras Steve had given her. 

Scuttling back onto the stairs to buy herself time, she ripped off her heavy necklace with her left hand as she flicked out her right and unhooked the little cigarette lighter she had attached to her wrist. She quickly sparked the flame to life, thanking the hour of practice she'd done the previous night, and lit the fuse of the smoke bomb Chin had cast into the back of the cheap costume jewelry. 

She threw the necklace onto the floor and it started belching out clouds of dense, purple smoke. The men in the courtyard took a step back, and Kono quickly dug into her bag and extracted her driving goggles. She slipped them on and pulled her veil across her face. Steve's makeshift smoke filter, sewn behind the red fabric, was heavy but she wasn't coughing and choking like the men who were scrambling to get out of the way of the smoke. 

She looked up and grinned at what she saw, the smoke billowing up and out of the open courtyard. That was the signal her team was waiting for. All she had to do was avoid getting caught in the melee and stand clear of the wall to her left. She drew her knife from the sheath on her thigh and waded into the smoke. Maybe she could catch herself a prize before the rest of the team started picking off all the targets. 

  


“This is a terrible plan,” Danny complained, wishing again he'd managed to talk his friends out of it.

“So you said,” Steve muttered next to him, both of them slouched against the wall, crudely disguised as beggars. “About a million times.”

“Well, it bears repeating,” Danny replied quietly, fighting the twin urges to raise his voice and his head. Beggars tended to not have pale skin and blue eyes, and they tended to not yell in English.

“Trust me, your worries have been noted,” Steve huffed, holding out a battered cup to a passerby who ignored him. “Your negative thoughts are putting people off.”

“Oh, I'm sorry,” Danny objected, his voice getting a little too loud. “I didn't realize we were actually trying to make money here. I thought we were watching out for the signal from our brave but foolhardy warrior woman inside the bad guy's lair.”

“Shut up,” Steve hissed, jabbing him in the ribs with a surprisingly bony finger. “For the love of all that's holy, shut up.”

“I don't...” Danny started, but was cut off by a shrill whistle. Chin's signal, from his vantage point on the roof above them.

Danny looked upwards, knowing Steve was doing the same, and saw the very faintest of wisps of purple smoke wafting over the roof of the house. Steve was already up and moving and Danny scrambled to follow him. They darted down the narrow alley at the back of the house and Steve shed his robe, dropping it on the floor and unhooking the explosives he had strapped to his chest. Danny had objected strongly to hiding explosives about his person, but it had been a fruitless argument. Like a lot of the ones they'd had recently. 

Danny decided, as he shed his own robe, he was going to have to have a long talk with the man who had wormed his way so quickly into his affections about how he should be conducting himself if he didn't want his partner to die of a heart attack. He pulled out the detonator and fuse he had in his own pocket and tossed it to Steve, who had already pressed the explosive charge to the wall, the curved metal plate he'd fastened the lentonite to, was facing outwards. According to Steve, and Chin whom he trusted to actually tell him the whole truth, this would direct most of the force of the blast at the wall. Danny still didn't want to be in the alley when it blew though. 

Steve pushed the detonator into the explosive and, after a quick glance at Danny, lit the fuse. They sprinted out of the alley, turned the corner and pressed themselves against the wall and waited. Danny thought it hadn't worked, that something had gone wrong, because an eternity seemed to pass before there was a huge explosion that sent bits of masonry rushing past them and into the street. 

Danny's ears were still ringing so he nearly missed the slither and thud that heralded Chin's descent from the roof. The man appeared next to him, goggles and face mask already in place and his gun drawn. The man was good. The detective pulled his own goggles down from under his turban and dragged the bandana he had around his neck over his face. Steve did the same before peering around the corner. He raised his hand and they edged into the alley, stepping over pieces of stone and plaster; the air was filled with dust and yellowish, acrid fumes. Purple smoke was already starting to pour out of the gaping hole in the wall of the house, filling the alley and drifting into the street. 

He could hear people screaming and yelling, both inside the house and in the street. He wondered, as they edged forwards and into the hole in the wall, how long they'd have before the Cairo Police arrived and how long he'd get to keep his job when Russell heard about what they'd done. 

Someone stumbled out of the smoke towards them, coughing and gasping, and Danny realized just how good a job of keeping the smoke out of his lungs the makeshift gas mask was going. He was going to have to thank Steve, right after he yelled at him for getting them into this mess. Steve moved quickly, landing a blow to the man's jaw that felled him with barely a sound. 

They moved further into the house, the air clearing a little as the smoke billowed out of the hole in the wall. Another figure stumbled towards them, ducking at the last minute and charging into Steve, knocking him to the floor. Steve's gun skittered out of his hand and Danny whirled around to see where it went only to be faced with his own attacker, who swung at him. He ducked under the blow, feeling it glance off his shoulder, and kicked out at the man who dodged backwards. 

“Weren't the occupants of the house supposed to be disorientated by the smoke?” he yelled at no one in particular, landing a hefty kick on his opponent’s leg. “Wasn't that the point of this plan?”

“Hey, guys,” Kono shouted from somewhere in the purple cloud. “There were five still up and about when you came in.”

There was a crunch of bone and a grunt before Steve responded. “That's two down, three left. You okay?” 

“Oh yeah,” Kono replied, sounding like she was enjoying herself. “It's like fishing for grouper.”

“Jesus Christ,” Danny spat, landing a fist in the solar plexus of the guy he was fighting that dropped him coughing and spluttering to the floor. He pulled out his cuffs and secured the man's hands behind his back, determined there was going to be at least one prisoner they could question later. “Two.”

“One,” Chin shouted from somewhere over on Danny's right.

There was a scuffle somewhere in front of him, followed by a muffled yelp that sounded female and Danny's heart jumped into his mouth. “Kono?” 

“She's fine,” a male voice he didn't recognize, rasped, voice roughed by the smoke. “But if you want her to stay that way I suggest you back away and let me go, McGarrett.”

“You know I can't do that,” Danny replied, flattening out his New Jersey accent and hoping Steve would follow his play, using the distraction to rescue Kono.

“Does she mean that little to you?” the man asked, and Danny thought he was getting nearer. “Does she count as an acceptable loss for you?”

“If you let her go now, I won't have to kill you later,” he said, thinking it sounded a lot like what Steve might say in this situation. Except when he re-ran the sentence in his head he thought he might have said it was okay to kill Kono as long as he understood Danny would be shooting him later. That wasn't right.

“I'm sure she'll be glad you have another name to add to the list of people you need to avenge. You still haven't done much about your father, have you, McGarrett.”

As he spoke, the man stepped out of the smoke, Kono held against him with a gun to her head. He blinked, looking at Danny in confusion, before realization he'd been duped spread across his face. Danny was about to speak when the smoke swirled behind the man and Steve appeared like some ghostly assassin. The man holding Kono crumpled without a sound, his gun falling uselessly to the floor, Steve's knife embedded in the base of his skull. 

“Zero,” Steve said, pulling his knife out of the body. “Is that Hesse?”

“No,” Kono said, disappearing back into the rapidly clearing smoke and the returning with her own knife. “He's not here.”

“He seems familiar,” Chin said, stepping out of the smoke and peering down at the body.

“He does?” Danny said, as they all looked down at the dead guy.

“He's the friend of the Idiot,” Chin said, with a snap of his fingers as he remembered. “The one from the Khan el Kalili.”

“Really?” Steve asked, bending to look closer.

“Great,” Danny sighed, because this day just couldn't get any worse. “Extra paperwork.”

“Why?” Kono asked, still brandishing her knife but otherwise looking like every man's fantasy with her skirts pulled up and her stockings on display.

“He's Lord something or other,” Danny explained. “Or said he was. You have to be extra thorough with all the forms if you kill the scion of some great family.”

“Even if he's a traitor?” Steve asked.

“Do we even know that?” Danny asked them all, wondering if they'd forgotten they still had no evidence. “We've got no proof he was other than our word.”

“There's lots upstairs,” Kono said matter-of-factly, making them all gape at her. “What?”

“Good,” Steve said, recovering first. “We need to search the place and make sure we get as much information as quickly as we can. There's no way Hesse isn't going to find out about this within a couple of hours and we need to be on his trail before then or he'll disappear.”

“There's another problem,” Kono said, sounding a little unsure about what she was going to say. “He mentioned a source telling them you were planning something, but they thought we were targeting another place.”

Steve looked at Danny, his face unreadable, but Danny could guess what he was thinking. They'd only told one person, other than their team, about the raid, and somehow the information had gotten to Hesse's source. They needed to search the building and find proof, not only to satisfy the police that dead Lord Whatsit was a traitor, but to get a lead on Hesse and his plans. And they also needed confirm their growing suspicion that Jameson was a traitor. 

“Steve, we can't leave here, not without searching the place,” Danny said, making Chin and Kono stare at him.

“We're not leaving,” Steve said, making Danny relax a little. “I'm leaving. You guys can stay and search the place in case we're wrong.”

“Leave?” Chin asked.

“We only told one person,” Steve explained, the anger he was feeling starting to bleed through onto his face finally. “He's got to be the leak.”

“The ambassador?” Kono sounded completely incredulous. “Really?”

“Jesus,” Chin murmured, already seeing the logic of their thoughts. “This is going to be messy.”

“We have no proof,” Danny pointed out, hoping Steve was going to listen to him. “We can't just go after someone like the ambassador without cast iron evidence. I know you want to find Hesse, babe, I get that, but we can't make a move now. It's too early.”

Steve seemed to hesitate for a few moments, obviously wanting to run off and confront the ambassador. Danny couldn't blame him. If he thought one of his dad's best friends had betrayed him and gotten him killed, he'd want to confront them too, make them tell him where the murderer was. But Danny needed Steve to listen to him now and not go running off. The ambassador was far too powerful to confront without evidence and even if they had it, there was no way Danny was ever going to let Steve go off on his own. 

“You're right,” Steve said, some of the tension leaving his shoulders. “We need to get all the evidence together.”

“And convince Russell to not throw us in jail for blowing up a house,” Danny said, clapping a hand on Steve's shoulder and squeezing. “I think I'm going leave that one up to you.”

Danny could hear the bells of a fire tender nearby and the shrill blast of a police whistle. It wouldn't be long before they were overrun with clod footed constables who would need to be herded away from the important evidence and matters of national security. He needed to send word to Russell with one of the first officers who arrived, but right now, he needed to make sure Steve was occupied and not running off to confront Jameson. 

  


Steve could hear Danny speaking to Russell in the main reception room near the front door, both men too far away for him to catch anything other than the occasional word. Danny hadn't made him explain the explosion to the Assistant Commissionaire, for which he would always be grateful, and he thought Danny might actually be blaming the owner of the house for it. 

Chin and Kono were sorting though the papers upstairs, doing the job that he should be doing, but he couldn't focus. All he could think about was how it had to be the ambassador who had betrayed them, how Jameson had almost certainly betrayed his father. It was eating at him, feasting on the hurt that had been there since he found out about his dad's death. He couldn't believe how big the hole inside him had already grown. 

He knew what he was about to do might well destroy Danny's trust in him, he might even get himself killed, but he couldn't not do it. He slipped out of the room he was in, across the side of the courtyard, no one even giving him a second glance, and out of the hole in the side of the building. 

He strode towards where they'd left the car, nodding at a couple of the uniformed officers on the way, before he became lost in the throng of people pressing down the streets to see what was happening. He knew he wasn't going to get away without anyone noticing he'd gone, but if he could just get as far as the embassy before Danny caught up with him, he'd call it a win. There was no way he could put any of the rest of the team in danger, most of all Danny. This was something he had to do on his own. Something he had to do for his father. 

  


“This is really an impressive find,” Russell said as he looked around the study of the house. “I think you've broken the back of the organization even if you haven't caught Hesse yet.”

“Thank you, sir,” Danny agreed, getting a nod from both Chin and Kono. “Steve still wants to find Hesse though.”

“I quite understand,” Russell responded. “Where is he, by the way?”

Danny suddenly realized he hadn't seen his partner in a while and with that came the growing suspicion that Steve had done exactly what he said he wouldn't do. He rushed from the room, leaned over the railing of the balcony and shouted, “Steve?” 

He got no reply, which only confirmed his fears. Damn it. He couldn't believe Steve had lied to him, just stood there and outright lied. Danny was furious. He knew Steve wanted to catch Hesse, needed to exact some kind of vengeance, but this was no way to treat his partner and his friends, let alone the person he said he cared about. 

“I need to borrow your car, sir,” Danny said as he stepped back into the study. “And you might want to come too. I think we need to stop Steve doing something really stupid.”

“What?” Russell asked, looking completely confused.

Chin and Kono looked at him and he could tell both of them knew what he meant. “Can you guys stay here and keep sifting through this stuff?” 

“Sure,” Chin said

“I'll explain in the car, sir,” Danny said, turning to Russell and finally answering his question. “But I think we really need to leave now.”

Russell looked at him for a moment, obviously trying to work out if it really was urgent or if Danny was panicking about nothing. Finally he nodded his head. “This way then. I'm bringing two of my officers with me though.” 

“The more the merrier,” Danny said grimly, leading the way down the stairs. He just hoped they weren't too late to stop Steve doing something he was going to regret forever.

  


Steve jammed on the parking brake of the car and jumped out, marching up the steps to the American embassy's front door. This felt right, even though he was going in there to do something that was almost certainly illegal. 

“The ambassador's in danger,” Steve told the marine on duty at the door as he strode inside. “I need you to put the embassy on lockdown. No one in or out unless I say so.”

The marine, who wasn't much more than a kid, blinked at him in shock, frozen to his spot by the door. Assuming he came out of this alive, and with a job, Steve was going to take over the training of the embassy staff, because whoever was doing it now was clearly inept. 

“Corporal,” he barked, bringing the man to attention and snapping him out of his shock. “Did you hear me?”

“Yes, sir, Commander, sir,” the kid replied, his back ramrod straight and his chin up but his eyes still filled with panic. “Lockdown, sir.”

“Perimeter outside, guards on every entrance, check all the rooms,” Steve ordered, helping the corporal out without telling him he didn't know what he was doing.

“Yes, sir.”

“I'm going to tell the ambassador,” Steve said, heading for the staircase up to the second floor.

“He's got someone with him, sir,” the marine explained, loosening up a little now he knew what he was supposed to be doing. “A Mr. William Pratt.”

Steve nearly stumbled over his own feet at the mention of the name. Hesse was here. Was he really this lucky? If he caught the two men together, their case would actually be stronger because there was no way that his team were going to leave the scene of their little encounter without some evidence to prove Pratt was Hesse and that he was a spy or a traitor or whatever it was he turned out to be. If they had that, he had the ambassador. Even if they couldn't arrest the man, no way could he remain in his job with the suspicion that he was colluding with his host country's enemies hanging over his head. 

Steve didn't bother knocking at the office door. He marched past the secretary's thankfully empty desk in the outer office and just opened the door to the inner sanctum. The ambassador was sat in his office chair, behind his desk, and sitting facing him, a glass of scotch in his hand, was the man Chin had called the Idiot, the companion of the guy Steve had killed not an hour before. 

Could the fool who'd actually shaken Steve's hand be his father's killer? Steve's mind rebelled at the idea, but as he looked at the sharp-faced man in the chair he saw none of the vacuous stupidity he'd seen at the Khan. Instead, there was a man with cold eyes and a hard face, perfectly capable of killing anyone in his way. 

“Well, this is awkward,” the man said, recovering before Steve or the ambassador. His voice wasn’t the same either, his accent something like Irish but with a twang of somewhere else Steve couldn't place.

“Hesse,” Steve hissed, drawing his gun as he stepped fully into the room. Steve's training made him quick on the draw, but Hesse was just as fast, leaping out of the chair and pulling his own revolver from the holster under his jacket.

“McGarrett,” Jameson said as he stood up, finally finding his voice and his feet. “What's going on?”

“It's no use pretending, Ambassador,” Steve said, not taking his eyes off Hesse as the man backed up to stand against the wall between the two windows of the office. “I know you're working with Hesse and I know he killed my father.”

“I don't know what you're talking about,” the ambassador said, his voice wavering a little, which told Steve all he needed to know about the man's nerves. “I know this man as William Pratt.”

Steve doubted it was true, but he had no proof one way or the other. Unless he could trap Jameson into a confession, he'd never know. And it wouldn't matter in court as there were no other witnesses and who would believe him over the ambassador, but at least he'd have the satisfaction of knowing the truth. 

“It doesn't matter under which name you know him,” Steve reasoned, watching Hesse who seemed happy to just let them play out their scene. “You still passed information to him. Only you knew about our operation this morning and yet somehow they knew about it. You put my people in danger.”

“You didn't tell Russell?” Jameson asked, his face paling as he slumped back into his chair.

“No,” Steve said, taking a step back to keep the ambassador and Hesse in his line of sight. “And what I want to know is, do you only feed him information or do you give him orders too?”

Steve's voice cracked as he spoke, the sudden rush of emotion as he asked the question surprising him. It wasn’t just the simple fact that perhaps Jameson was the man who'd ordered Hesse to kill his father; it was that either way the ambassador, someone his dad had been friends with, had betrayed him. He felt his eyes sting and he blinked hard. 

“Dear God,” Hesse said, rolling his eyes and sighing dramatically. “I don't know how much more of this I can stand. So much father son angst. At least when you deal with a Brit, they're all stiff upper lip and bad show, old man, just not cricket. You Yanks have got to get all emotional about it. I give the orders and Jameson follows them. I shot your father because he was getting too close to my operations.”

And there it was, a confession, the thing he'd come here looking for. Part of him, a smaller part than he'd assumed it would be, wanted to shoot Hesse where he stood, but the larger part wanted to know the reasons, not just the bald facts. It wanted to show the world his father's killers and let everyone know the truth of it. 

“Why?” Steve asked, glancing at the ambassador. “Why do you follow his orders? Money?”

“Ah, if only it were that simple,” Hesse taunted him, making Jameson flinch.

“Blackmail?” Steve asked, softening his opinion of the ambassador, just a little. He understood what it was like to have a secret people could use against him, he had Danny, but he liked to think he'd put people's lives, the duty to his country, ahead of keeping his job if someone found out.

“Steven,” Jameson started, sound scared and weary. “There was more at stake than your father.”

“Don't even try and justify it,” Steve spat, turning more towards the ambassador. “You betrayed him and you've betrayed your country and its allies by selling information to save your position. What could possibly be more important than that?”

“I'm good at my job,” Jameson said, leaning forward in his chair. “I'm a good ambassador, I can do good things here and I can do better things when I get back to the States. When I get to Washington.”

The way he said it, the way he looked at Steve, made it clear he was being offered some kind of bribe. Keep quiet, let this go, and there would be power waiting for him down the line. Except he wasn't stupid enough to believe it, even if he could have let his father's death go unpunished. They'd kill him for what he knew. 

“That's what this is about?” Steve choked out, barely able to control his emotions. “You sacrificed my father, your own honor, for a run for president?”

“I told him to back off,” Jameson insisted, his voice getting higher. “If he'd listened to me, he'd still be alive.”

“You're a lot like him,” Hesse stated, drawing Steve's attention back to him again. “Loyal, tenacious, and ultimately doomed.”

“You're not getting out of here if you shoot me,” Steve told him, steadying his grip on his gun. “I've put the place on lockdown and no matter what lies Jameson is willing to tell to protect you, my team and Russell know the truth. They even have all the evidence at the house to prove it.”

Hesse's eyes widened just a fraction and Steve knew he'd hit a nerve. So there was evidence at the house. That was good, that made what he was doing, even if it ended for him in this office, seem like it was worthwhile. Danny and the rest of the team could break Hesse's organization. 

“And you'll need some new underlings,” Steve said, enjoying giving Hesse bad news instead of being two steps behind him. “They're all out of the game.”

“My brother?” Hesse demanded, and Steve suddenly realized who the man he'd killed was.

Steve didn't know what to say. He wasn't shy about telling Hesse he'd been the one to kill his brother, in fact there was a certain sense of an eye for an eye justice about it all, but he was still hoping he might get out of this alive. The ambassador, too. 

“He's dead, isn't he?” Hesse demanded, his face hardening. “Then so are you.”

Steve flung himself sideways, squeezing a shot off as he did so, but felt Hesse's bullet smash into his shoulder. He hit the floor and rolled behind the easy chair. Trying to catch his breath. Christ, it hurt. But he had to get up. 

“Victor,” Jameson said, sounding really panicked. “No.”

Before Steve could get his feet under himself he heard another shot, and a body hit the floor. He pushed himself up, but dropped right back down as another shot whistled past his head. His left arm was pretty much useless and the pain was making his vision blur. Jesus, he was a mess. 

He heard running feet and knew the marines were going to come piling into the room any minute. He didn't want any more casualties if he could avoid it. He pushed up again, his gun leveled at the space where Hesse had been, only to discover he'd vanished. 

“Commander,” the marine corporal from downstairs shouted from the doorway. “I need you to put down your gun.”

“Corporal, there's an armed man somewhere in this building,” Steve said, levering himself upright, his gun lowered. “He's shot me and the ambassador.”

“I still need to you to put the gun down, sir,” the marine insisted.

“I can't do that,” Steve told him, turning to face the door and letting the kid see the wound on his shoulder. “We need to find him. And you need to get a doctor for Ambassador Jameson.”

“And you need a doctor too, sir,” the marine said, stepping carefully into the room followed by two other impossibly young soldiers. 

“No, I need to find the man. He killed my father.”

  


Danny threw Russell's car into a sharp turn and slid to a halt in front of the embassy’s closed gates. Russell was gripping his seat as though his life depended on it and Danny wondered what the man would make of being in the car with Steve. He hoped they got a chance to find out someday. 

Pushing the thought aside he leapt out of the car and ran to the guard booth at the side of the gate. “Open up,” he ordered the big marine he found there. “Commissionaire Russell needs to speak to the ambassador.” 

“I'm afraid I can't do that,” the marine said slowly, his Georgia drawl making Danny want to scream with frustration before he'd finished the sentence. “The embassy's on lockdown.”

“Why?” Danny demanded, his heart sinking at the number of stupid things Steve could already have done.

“Commander McGarrett's orders, sir,” the marine explained with all the speediness of a glacier grinding down a mountain. “He said there was a threat to the ambassador and no one was to come in or out except on his say so.”

“Look, Sergeant,” Danny started, taking in the guy's stripes. “I'm Commander McGarrett's partner and you know Commissionaire Russell. We need to get in there and help, because there really is a threat to the ambassador.”

“I know who you are,” the marine said, his face impassive. “And I also know that the fewer civilians we have running loose, the easier any threat will be to neutralize.”

Okay, Danny thought, so the guy isn't as dumb as he makes out because if their roles had been reversed, he wouldn't have let them in either. He was trying to think of what ploy to try next when the telephone in the guard booth rang. The marine, keeping a wary eye on Danny and Russell, who'd recovered enough to get out of the car, answered. 

“Slow down, Corporal,” he ordered after listening for a few seconds. “Take a breath, and then report.”

He listened, his shoulders getting tenser with each passing minute as the person on the other end of the line, and Danny guessed it was inside the embassy, told what was obviously a tale of disaster. Danny prayed to a god he wasn't sure he believed in that Steve hadn't done anything he, and Danny, were going to regret for the rest of their lives. 

“Send someone down here right away, Boggs,” the big man barked, slamming the earpiece onto the hook of the receiver stand. “The ambassador's dead.”

Danny's heart was in his throat. What had Steve done? He was certain, or he had been until about ten seconds ago, that Steve wouldn't harm the ambassador, even if he thought the man was a traitor and had helped to get his father killed. He didn't seem to be the kind of guy who executed someone without a trial. 

“I think you need to let us inside,” Russell said, sounding every inch the respected police officer and bureaucrat he was. “And I'll send for some reinforcements for you.”

“And a doctor, sir,” the marine said sadly, unlocking the side gate. “Commander McGarrett's been shot by the assassin too.”

“Shot?” Danny demanded, torn between wishing the man would hurry up and open the gate, and that he'd turn around and tell Danny everything he knew. “How bad?”

“I don't know,” the man said, swinging the gate open for them. “Corporal Boggs wasn't all too coherent, sir. I need to get someone down here to relieve me so I can get up there and coordinate. If anyone stops you, tell them Sergeant Callaghan sent you and today's password is Utah.”

“You go on ahead, Williams,” Russell commanded, turning back towards their waiting car. “I'll arrange things here, help Callaghan, and then catch you up. And try not to cause a diplomatic incident.”

“Send for Miss Forth,” Danny said, continuing at Russell's questioning look, "she's Steve's doctor.”

“Very well,” Russell replied after a moment, obviously wishing he didn't have to involve any of the Emersons.

“Thank you, sir,” Danny said, already sprinting off up the long drive to the embassy. He didn't draw his gun, although he kept his hand near it, not wanting any of the guards he could see patrolling the grounds to think he was a threat before he could give them Callaghan's message.

He was approaching the building when movement on the roof caught his eye. Up there, silhouetted against the perfect blue sky, was Steve, gun drawn, aiming at someone that Danny couldn't see. Danny felt the conflicting emotions of relief that Steve was clearly mobile and therefore not too badly hurt and terror that Steve was up on the roof with a killer. He staggered slightly, missing his step, as his body tried all at once to relax and move faster. If he didn't die from shock in the next few minutes, and if Steve got off the roof alive, Danny was going to kill him. Stupid, moronic, brave, lovable idiot that he was. 

  


Steve held his gun out in front of him as he stepped carefully around the angle of the chimney stack. He was losing blood, fast, he knew that, but he just needed to catch Hesse. Before anyone else got killed. He'd already stepped over the bodies of two soldiers, one at the bottom of the stairs to the roof, and one at the top. 

Hesse was good, obviously as highly trained as Steve was, and was clearly too much to handle for the marines who'd been assigned as embassy guards. Marines were tough, tenacious fighters, but their training was too by the book, as were most of the regular forces, both American and British. Enemies were supposed to follow the same rules as they did, stand up and fight like honest men. Well, that wasn't how everyone played. 

Sure, the countries in Europe seemed to be intent on wiping out whole generations of men by marching towards each other's guns, but he'd been fighting and training with people who remained hidden, kept to the shadows, killed silently. He was going to, if he ever got out of this, try to make his superiors listen to him, to insist that the world wasn't all following rule books anymore and they owed it to their soldiers to train them for it. 

He caught movement across the roof, near the back of the building where he knew the lower stable block butted up against the two story main building. He cautiously edged forward, trying to keep the ventilation ducts and chimney stacks between him and the back of the house. The last thing he wanted was for Hesse to get away now. 

Something slammed into his side, sending his gun clattering across the roof. He spun away from what he guessed was a person, feeling a wave of dizziness wash over him. How had he gotten it so wrong? He'd been sure Hesse was over at the back of the building. 

He stumbled backwards, fighting his own body's sudden clumsiness. Hesse was facing him, a smug look of victory already on his face. Steve felt a surge of adrenaline rush through him, pushing away some of the fog in his mind and the pain in his body. He was not going to die on this roof. Danny would never forgive him if he did. 

Hesse still had his gun, but the grin he flashed at Steve told the Navy man all he needed to know about what was going to happen next. Hesse was enjoying himself, he liked causing pain and suffering, and he didn't think Steve was enough of a threat to just shoot him. The man who'd killed his father wanted to toy with him, make him suffer physically and probably mentally, and only then would he kill him. 

Steve hoped he could use that over-confidence long enough for Hesse to make a mistake that gave him the chance kill the arrogant, traitorous son of a bitch. He backed away, letting Hesse think he was going to try to get away. Hesse stepped in, swinging a testing punch at his head. Steve blocked it clumsily, moving just quickly enough to save his jaw but slowly enough to feed Hesse's ego. 

Hesse swung again, this time connecting with Steve's stomach, knocking the wind out of him enough that his groan and lurch to the side wasn't that much of an act. Christ, he needed to do something to slow Hesse down or he wasn't going to last much longer. Steve darted forwards, his head still lowered, and slammed into Hesse, taking them both down to the floor. 

“You're just prolonging the inevitable, McGarrett,” Hesse laughed at him, pushing Steve off him with frightening ease.

Steve rolled away, each contact between his injured shoulder and the roof excruciating. He scrambled upright and shook his head to clear his vision. He thought he could hear shouting from somewhere down below and hoped no one came up on to the roof, because he was sure that both he and whoever it was that came up the stairs would be dead. It was only Hesse's belief he could still get away that was keeping Steve alive. 

Hesse stepped in and swung a solid punch that Steve blocked, leaving himself open for the kick the other man landed to his knee. Pain shot up Steve's leg, making his vision blur and his breath catch. He took a breath and blew it out, swinging his own leg up and slamming his knee into Hesse's stomach, only missing his groin because the other man twisted and pushed himself away at the last minute. 

Hesse laughed, reached forward and grabbed Steve's shirt collar, reeling him closer. With a look of smug triumph on his face, he punched Steve hard in his injured shoulder. Steve howled, trying to get his arm up to block the next blow he could already see coming. Hesse batted his arm away and punched the wound again and again. 

Steve was helpless against the pain that engulfed him. He should fight, he knew that, but it was beyond him. Everything had faded away in the face of the blackness that spread from his shoulder, making his vision dim and filling his ears with a roaring sound. 

He hit the floor with a thump, his mind scrambling to catch up with what was going on. Hesse was standing over him, and dimly Steve knew this was it, this was the moment he had to act. He reached out his right hand, hoping he'd ended up where he'd planned, because if he hadn't then he was dead. His fingers curled around the grip of his gun like an old friend and he straightened his arm, firing at the wobbly shadow in front of him, praying it was Hesse. 

The recoil nearly jerked the gun from his hand, but the shadow was gone. Steve collapsed back against the roof, knowing that he was done. He'd either killed Hesse or he hadn't. There wasn't anything else he could do, because he couldn't see any more. 

He was shivering, he realized, which made no sense in the heat of the Egyptian sun. He should move, get warm, but he couldn't really feel anything anymore. He heard a voice again, and it sounded like Danny. That didn't make any sense either. He wished it was, but it couldn't be. Danny wasn't here. He was somewhere else. Somewhere safe. 

The voice shouted, and he thought someone was grabbing him, but it didn't matter. Nothing mattered. He'd done his duty and nothing mattered. He thought he felt lips on his, a hand at his cheek, but the blackness was washing over him and he didn't fight it. 

  


Steve came awake with a start from a dream about running in the desert, a giant, fanged worm chasing him. Pain flared through his shoulder and he groaned. God, it hurt. 

The smell of the worm's foul breath followed him into the real world and it took a few moments of panic for him to realize it was carbolic soap. Hospital. That's right, he'd been shot. Not dead then. He felt something squeeze the fingers on his uninjured arm and decided someone was holding his hand, even though his brain wasn't really processing the sensations properly. 

“You awake?” Danny said before Steve even opened his eyes, his voice rough. 

“Yeah,” Steve managed to say, turning to face towards his partner as he opened his eyes. The man looked tired, dark circles under his eyes and several days' stubble shadowing his jaw. “Hurts.”

“That's what happens when you go off on your own and get yourself shot,” Danny snapped, his voice angry even though he never let go of Steve's hand. “I hope it's a lesson to you.”

“Had to do it,” Steve tried to explain, even though he wasn't sure he had access to all the words he was sure he'd known before.

“I know, babe,” Danny sighed, squeezing his hand again, looking so exhausted and sad. “Just, next time, tell me. Let me help you. Let me watch your back. Because, I can't. Just...”

“I know,” Steve interrupted, not exactly sure what he was agreeing to, but he couldn't stand to see Danny look so lost and helpless. “I will.”

Danny didn't reply, just gripped his hand and stared down at their joined fingers. Steve squeezed back, hoping Danny believed him, even though he wasn't sure he would do anything differently if he had a do over. Keeping Danny safe had been as important to him as trying to bring down Ambassador Jameson and catch his father's killer. 

“Hesse?”

“Dead,” Danny replied, a small smile gracing his face for the first time since Steve had awoken. “You got him right between the eyes.”

Steve didn't bother explaining that he'd thought he was dying and it had to have been the luckiest shot in the world. Maybe later, when he felt more able to deal with the rant that it would provoke, although he was fairly sure Danny guessed. “He was blackmailing Jameson. That's why the ambassador was helping him.” 

“You'll never guess what the secret was,” Danny said, his voice full of smug glee and his eyes twinkling.

“How did you find out?” Steve asked, not bothering to take a guess because he wouldn't be right, he was sure, and finding out how Danny and the rest of the team had solved the problem was far more interesting.

“Well, I didn't,” Danny admitted, looking a little deflated at having to disappoint Steve. “It was the coroner. It's all been hushed up, of course. Officially, Jameson was murdered by an assassin, an enemy agent, and you shot him as he made his escape. Which is true, I suppose, but the whole passing secrets to Hesse hasn't been made public.”

“What was the secret?” Steve demanded, when Danny paused for breath. He could feel tiredness starting to tug him under again and he wanted to know before he fell asleep.

“Oh, well,” Danny said with a pleased smirk. “He was a she.”

“What?”

“When they did the autopsy, it was all there,” Danny explained, looking a little hesitant at giving the details. “Or not there, in the case of certain parts of the anatomy.”

“A woman?”

“Yep. Breasts taped down, mustache glued on, the whole works.” Danny's gestures, with the hand not holding Steve's, were expansive. “Dr. Bergman even thinks she'd had a couple of kids at some point in the past. He started to explain how he knew in graphic detail,” and here Danny shuddered in horror, “but I stopped listening and made Chin speak to him. If you need to know all the sordid details, which, knowing you, you will, you'll have to speak to him yourself.”

“Christ,” Steve breathed. He wanted to ask how no one had guessed, but he hadn't had even an inkling of the truth so why would anyone else. 

“I know,” Danny agreed with a wicked grin. “I'm never going to trust anyone I haven't seen naked.”

Steve couldn't help but smile back, even though his eyelids were already starting to droop. “Glad we've already taken care of that.” 

Danny laughed, squeezing Steve's hand again. “Go to sleep, babe. I'll be here when you wake up.” 

Steve hummed his agreement and let himself slide back to sleep. He'd done his duty and everything was good. He thought he felt lips on his, a hand at his cheek, but the blackness was washing over him and he didn't fight it. 

~fin~ 

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title comes from a quote by former UN Secretary General Butros Butros-Ghali “The best way to deal with bureaucrats is with stealth and sudden violence.”

**Author's Note:**

> This is a crossover, albeit very slight, with Elizabeth Peters’ Amelia Peabody series, specifically Thunder in the Sky. They’re excellent books, funny and clever, but you don't have to know them to follow this story. A few of the books' characters appear in one scene of this story and are mentioned in others. The Cairo of the Elizabeth Peters novels is historically accurate, but the residents have been exposed over long years to the exploits of Amelia Peabody Emerson and her family. This means they react in the books, and in this story, with somewhat less horror than might be expected when faced with women doing things polite society thinks they shouldn't. The Emmersons have also had a friendly, to the point having a niece married to an Egyptian native, attitude to Egyptians. This means that the British society is somewhat used to seeing respected, if eccentric, members of its ranks spending time with non-whites. They might disapprove, but it's not something they've never seen before.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Burn Your Kingdom Down](https://archiveofourown.org/works/318121) by [no_big_deal](https://archiveofourown.org/users/no_big_deal/pseuds/no_big_deal)




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